|
Hitchhiked to hell and back |
|
Riding the wind |
|
Waiting for a generation's bonfire to begin |
|
When the plunder of the poets |
|
Thunder of a punk's guitar |
|
Beat life to my body |
|
Sulking drunk at the back of a bar |
|
Whoring my heart |
|
On the wings of a western night |
|
Busting my guts |
|
On a riot dose of paradise |
|
When a red-blooded daughter |
|
Slowed my gunfire run to rest |
|
With her blitzkrieg love |
|
And a roman candle kiss |
|
There is no high like this |
|
Adrenaline nightshift |
|
Hurricane home to crusade alone |
|
Wounded and thin |
|
Still waiting for a generation's bonfire to begin |
|
When I muscle up some money |
|
I'll rattle the sabre of the streets |
|
Cause death has no respect for love |
|
And youth no respect for me |
|
There is no high like this |
|
Adrenaline nightshift |