Save the last cigarette
for the ride home.
Brave the storm, hide your keys.
Getting lost, you never know.

And without a source of direction
we lift
And rumble throughout the sky.

Left-handed ambiance,
So typical with the tyrant,
The hierarchy of a mind.

Bass drums so loud I can't breathe,
hold onto what's haunting me.
And this car isn't ready to ride.