It's exploding bags, aerosol cans Southbound buses, Peter Pan They left it up to us again I thought you knew the drill It's kill or be killed. - Conor Oberst

And you speak of a fever, that burns you inside,
as you explain to your mother, how you've wanted to die.
So she kisses your fingers, and says "My darling, but why?
When there is so much more. There is so much more."

The squatters made a mural of a Mexican girl
With fifteen cans of spray paint and a chemical swirl
She's standing in the ashes at the end of the world
Four winds blowing through her hair.

I’ve seen a child, he's caught in the sad trap of gravity. He falls from the lowest branch of the apple tree and lands in the grass and weeps for his dignity. Next time he will not aim so high. Yeah, next time, neither will I.