the time has come for cold and overcoats
quiet on the ride, we're all just waiting to get home
another week away, my greatest fear
i need the smell of summer
i need it's noises in my ears
if looks could really kill
then my profession would be staring
know we do this cause we care, not for the thrill
collect calls to home
tell them that i realize that everyone who lives
will someday die and die alone
and we won't let you in
though we're down and out
no, we won't let you in
wrote more postcards than hooks
i read more maps than books
feel like every chance to leave
is another chance i should've took
every minute is a mile
i've never felt so hollow
i'm an old abandoned church
with broken pews and empty aisles
my secrets for a buck
watch me as i cut myself wide open
on this stage, yes, i am paid to spill my guts
i won't see home 'til spring
yeah, i would kill for the atlantic
but i am paid to make girls panic while i sing
and we won't let you in
though we're down and out
no, we won't let you in
we don't want what isn't ours
no, we won't let you in
and the coastline is quiet
while we're quietly losing control
and we're silent but sure
we invented the cure
that will wash out my memory
the harpoon's loaded
the cage is lowered
the water's red
like you