Keep the noise low.
|
She doesn't wanna blow it.
|
Shaking head to toe
|
while your left hand does "the show me around."
|
Quickens your heartbeat.
|
It beats me straight into the ground.
|
|
You don't recover from a night like this.
|
A victim, still lying in bed, completely motionless.
|
A hand moves in the dark to a zipper.
|
Hear a boy bracing tight against sheets
|
barely whisper, "This is so messed up."
|
|
Upon arrival the guests had all stared.
|
Dripping wet and clearly depressed,
|
he'd headed straight for the stairs.
|
No longer cool, but a boy in a stitch,
|
unprepared for a life full of lies and failing relationships.
|
|
(Up the stairs: the station where
|
the act becomes the art of growing up.)
|
|
He keeps his hands low.
|
He doesn't wanna blow it.
|
He's wet from head to toe and
|
his eyes give her the up and the down.
|
His stomach turns and he thinks of throwing up.
|
But the body on the bed beckons forward
|
and he starts growing up.
|
|
The fever, the focus.
|
The reasons that I had to believe
|
you weren't too hard to sell.
|
Die young and save yourself.
|
The tickle, the taste of...
|
It used to be the reason I breathed
|
but now it's choking me up.
|
Die young and save yourself.
|
|
She hits the lights.
|
This doesn't seem quite fair.
|
Despite everything he learned from his friends,
|
he doesn't feel so prepared.
|
She's breathing quiet and smooth.
|
He's gasping for air.
|
"This is the first and last time," he says.
|
She fakes a smile and presses her hips into his.
|
He keeps his hands pinned down at his sides.
|
He's holding back from telling her
|
exactly what it really feels like.
|
|
He is the lamb, she is the slaughter.
|
She's moving way too fast and all he wanted was to hold her.
|
Nothing that he tells her is really having an effect.
|
He whispers that he loves her,
|
but she's probably only looking for...
|
|
(Up the stairs: the station where
|
the act becomes the art of growing up.)
|
|
So much more than he could ever give.
|
A life free of lies and a meaningful relationship.
|
He keeps his hands pinned down at his sides.
|
He waits for it to end
|
and for the aching in his guts to subside.
|
|
The fever, the focus.
|
The reasons that I had to believe
|
you weren't too hard to sell.
|
Die young and save yourself.
|
The tickle, the taste of...
|
It used to be the reason I breathed
|
but now it's choking me up.
|
Die young and save yourself.
|
|
Up the stairs: the station where
|
the act becomes the art of growing up.
|
|
The fever, the focus.
|
The reasons that I had to believe
|
you weren't too hard to sell.
|
Die young and save yourself.
|
The tickle, the taste of...
|
It used to be the reason I breathed
|
but now it's choking me up.
|
Die young and save yourself.
|
|
-----------------
|
Sic Transit Gloria...Glory Fades
|
Brand New |