Now Its Time To Wrap Our Fears In The Night

And On The First Day I'll Dress This City In Flames

After The Things You Say

You Hate Me For Being This Way



Still You Won't Let Go Of Old Ideals

There Is No Headline To Read At Night

When The Record Slips And You're Not Holding The Needle



We All Sing The Songs Of Separation

And We Watch Our Lives Bleed Out Through Our Hands

Thats How It Was On The First Day

We Saw Paris In Flames



I Think It's Going To Rain, Rain Down



Here In This Collapsed Lung Of A Borough

There Is No Sunlight

The Sunlight Is Manufactured In A Windowless Room

Distant And Incoherent

Businessmen Hang Themselves



The Lower East Side Is A Jukebox Playing The Deadman's Crescendo

The Needle Is A Vector

An Intersection That Well All Must Cross

A Dimly Lit Hallway Where Shadows Of Moths Decorate The Walls

Discard This Message

Burn This City Down



Discard This Message

Throw This Bottle Back In The Ocean

Rip This Page From The History Books

Smash All The Street Signs

Erase All The Maps

Forget My Name

Forget My Face

Because It's Going To Rain

And It Never Ends