Punch-Drunk Punk Rock Romance

pressed the seven sequenced silver panic buttons, the distress calls that fall on a distracted short-wave signal. a metronome timed to my panic stricken breathing and a pulse conducted by our dying lines. you said my heart sounded like a payphone in the rain. distorted, distant, scrambled and desperate. baby, i swear to god tonight i am sober. it's the reception between us that's failing. everything's coming out all frenzied and confused. she's got what it takes to make collapsing a habit and a dance out of a tantrum fit (it's tragic but i am sobering up). pick up the phone. tonight i feel like the hero of a rusting war. my touch has the timing and precision of a car wreck. no use translating the trembles. they're symptoms of repetitive testing for fluctuation. if i come back home, i am bringing back the bends. so give me a kiss. let me taste the reptilian appeal. say it again baby. does it turn you on? does it get you hot? i get a little hysterical sometimes. the panic you shouldn't have been so sentimental. all that kicking and screaming. everything i touch starts peeling. we malfunction like machines. get up off the floor and answer the phone. i want to be a big star. didn't want to touch so hard. open the door. i am your deviant satellite, an orbit defected by the ballast of words. you're the reason for collisions. i am face down like a sailor washed up under your window. tonight is a shipwreck. navigating through disorder. now every electric star hums like a telecaster. how punk rock is that? you're so oblivious. baby, you're my oblivion.