We've got vinyl brains and broken record tongues
We're either "under the..." or "the top..." gun

An open arm, extended hand, pointed finger
"Why, this boy can't be a singer."

This smeared ink may become more than words for ghosts
Love is loud
We've got no windows down

There must be another way to do this
All I do is talk shit until the kiss

Since the first sight
It's been your shyness and this vice
Doublestandardize this time

That's why I'm sticking to days' ends with your boyfriends
That's why I'm sticking around

You are a

Come and sing me out of this one
Some screaming pill gave me a song to sing

Call the machine
Give it my regards
I wanted to see the world
They needed a star

Nothing more is gonna keep me here
Nothing more is gonna keep me here

Flatlines turn to invites