|
Just move along |
|
There's nothing to see here |
|
Just flashing lights that simmer |
|
In pools that catch their crimson |
|
As the spectacle unfolds |
|
On tiptoes, bells, and whispers |
|
This collision's reality |
|
Is made to match mine |
|
Just move along |
|
The party is over |
|
All these frantic nights alone |
|
Surrounded by throbbing hopefuls |
|
No future promise |
|
No photos allowed |
|
Nothing safe behind the shroud |
|
As the spectacle unfolds |
|
On tiptoes, horns, and whistles |
|
This collision's reality |
|
Is made to match mine |
|
Is made to match mine |
|
Now I'll cross the plane |
|
That stands in between |
|
The safe and the sane |
|
And your army |
|
As the spectacle unfolds |
|
On tiptoes, glass, and fragments |
|
This collision's reality |
|
Is made to match mine |
|
Is made to match mine |
|
Is made to match mine |
