This conceptual freak-out must end around now. This love-hate bayonet friend will make you feel sane again and settle back down. Settle back down, but what's your expiration date? Would I like to meet you? I'm all numbed up with numbers, ground down, and balanced out. I'm in sync with the soundtrack of all the hip men in magazines doing hip things. This is platinum-coated fun. It's higher than gold.
Lyrics submitted by fallacies