Raise up the anchors and seal up the cracks
|
Self hate and microphones, we'll re-trace the maps
|
A beat up guitar and an amp I got for free
|
I compile blurred still frames from the blacktop seas
|
|
Weary bodies can't rest
|
We keep on moving
|
|
With a ringing in my ears and dust in my blood
|
With an empty wallet and a hungry soul
|
I don't have much to show, but I've got some stories to tell
|
|
College towns and apartment floors
|
We repeat nocturnally and leave out the backdoor
|
We fight like brothers and party like thieves
|
Excess and irony, alcohol and trees
|
|
Weary bodies can't rest
|
We keep on moving
|
|
With a ringing in my ears and dust my blood
|
With an empty wallet and a hungry soul
|
I don't have much to show, but I've got some stories to tell
|
|
-----------------
|
Mad Max Was An Amateur
|
| The Ghost |
