Paroles: None More Black. Icons. Here Comes Devereux.

Am I frightened of this town? Just a little. I'm a frightened of all the things that it makes me do. I've been invited to a part with demons and dickheads. One without the other? I'm screwed. I think I just saw someone move in the corner. She's looking at me and making me shake. I'm feeling kinda dirty like never before. This can't end well for both of our sakes. Now I'm scared so I should just leave. I push and push it. Un-charismatic. Slightly unattractive. I look like such a mess. Just want to fade away. Pushing finger on the pulse, cause I need it. It's nice to know that I can settle the score with just a little bit of pressure, deadbolts and water; a middle finger to complete the chord. Now I'm tangled in nickel and tape - glass and refraction - got my own private screening of "I'll never be great" eyes are glued. Inspired and ready. Sure enough the focus will fade. Now I'm bored, so I should give up. I push and push it. I'm unproductive. Creative juices flowing. I haven't felt a drop. Just want to fade away.