Thursday

Now its time to wrap our fears in the night
And on the first day we'll dress this city in flames
After all the things you say
You hate me for being this way
Still you won't let go of old ideals
There is no headline to read at night
When the record skips and you're not holding the needle
We all sing the songs of separation
And we watch our lives bleed out through our hands
Thats how it was on the first day
We saw Paris in Flames
I think it's going to rain, rain down
Here in this collapsed lung of a borough
There is no sunlight
The sunlight is manufactured in a windowless room
Distant and incoherent