there's someone running through the ramp parkade

spilling out over the sides like brush fire

burning the roof top concrete

and bouncing off pillars in the oil stain dark

Stabbing out holes in white walls

wrist wrapped fist

let it out! let it out!

cutting though clothes



I keep a close eye on the skyline

who's in the paper and who sings the blues

who sits down at the back

who stands in line

who's got nothing else left to lose

stabbing out holes in white walls

wrist wrapped fist

let it out! let it out!

cutting though clothes



seriously loud

this is a serious town

violently not making a sound