Spent 4 dollars on the light gun game
in the Barcade, and beat it,
and there are no high scores,
just 2am and sore eyes and
lactic acid in the elbow.

We're all rats chewing holes in
the ship we stow away on.
Sinking in a desperate hunger.

You don't know me, and, so...
don't pretend to anymore.

You don't talk much,
I don't talk much.
So, we don't talk much.
Yet, somehow, everything
is "fine". [citation needed]

Singing in the passenger side this time,
sitting on the vocals for the perfect song,
waiting to make you cry.

I am your doll, full of needles;
We fight by cuddling in armor
padded with barbed wire and thorns.

Mutilated "lovers". [citation needed]
Cold wars and cold tongues and shoulders,
and tired of all the *******, but whatever.
Everything's ******* now.
Nothing is fine, or good,
or okay...