Into Your Veins

To steal the wind from your lungs
to take the breath from your lips.
I am trafficking bliss.
I sell wholesale with a kiss.
I am a dealer of words.
I’ll suck the buzz from your scene,
and sell it right back to you,
before I get away clean.
Before I get away clean.
This is your stereo
and your speakers are blown.
In this scenario
we are the Guns of Navarone.
This is a mutiny.
This is a masquerade.
This is the pin pulling from a ticking hand grenade.
Shoot each word into your veins.
Sing until you can’t feel pain.
(You’re going down hard,
you’re going down fast,
you’re going down like this might be your last.)
We are your own parasite,
a wind blown pilot light.
Sinking like a lead balloon,
something you cooked in a spoon.
This a firing line.
This is Sweet Caroline.
This is a slot machine.
This is a prison camp- minus any Steve McQueen.
To bind up the brokenhearted,
We came here to bleed.
To bind up the brokenhearted,
you know what you need.