Pull the pin, it's a sick game of hot potato
by Courtlyn-Daun-Quay
We don't know where we are going to land
Whose arms we find ourselves in
When the fuse finishes with a puff of smoke
It's not over.
This is the best part of it
Whose arms we find ourselves in.
Brace for impact
Be ready
Catch the broken pieces we can't hold together