Lyrics: At The Drive-In. Transatlantic Foe.

Pet sounds filling pet peeve void's black and white tv with the sound turned down is it mono or stereo? lending aneurysm satisfaction in the fruitless gaze of your mona lisa lazy smile trick ourselves in portable stanzas black russian throated on this guillotine cancer how steep we are but there's just no telling just no telling savion is under heel clicking morse code through movie stills again the sky had blackened with carrion birds pinstriped suits and cigarettes tapped danced through the tepid burlesque their mouths were parched with excess thirst bridge and chorus candy curse still they snag through the strepthroat verse pet sounds filling pet peeve voids black and white tv with the sound turned down like breathing blood through lungs of czar's child if i had a dollar for every plot that you made in this bed of nails you make how steep how steep we are