This was before
The wolves crashed the party
We found all our figures
And they hid the triggers
Beneath the lace
Give me some feeling
Fuck it, feed me my lines
Come the morning
In a long line
Of comings
They'll find us
The best damn amateur models
That grandeur can buy
It's the way we move
When there's a camera around
Too much skin
Smoke and mirrors
To tongue your bored little mouth
It's the way we move
When there's a camera around
Too much skin
Smoke and mirrors
To hollow you out
Can you hear them threading fingers
Tapping signals on the thighs
Bored throwing dead presidents
At the drunken breasts of the night
I'm giving back to this scene
Another cliché punk rock tragedy
I'm giving back to this scene
Another cliché punk rock tragedy
Fuck your idols, kill the scene
Make a bride of your apathy
Fuck your idols, kill the scene
Make a bride of your apathy
Fuck your idols, kill the scene
Make a bride of your apathy
Fuck your idols, kill the scene
Make a bride of your apathy
Wash away 10 years with a bottle of cheap gin and
Loathing myself fuck the whole thing
Take a moment to reflect on the times
When reflections like mine were too drunk to
Fuck the glory days
Fuck the glory days
Fuck the glory days
Til the glory days start singing songs about me