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.