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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 Please fill in the fields below and click SUBMIT to send it to your friend.
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