The city looks so pretty, do you wanna burn it with me?




Who could give a f*ck about a kid with a dream?

'Cause stories aren’t told about the ones unseen
With a gleam in his eye, his middle finger to the sky
Crooked smile on his face, he doesn’t think he can die
So grab a pick and an ax 'cause we try, we cry
Into the bottle of Jack, we die inside
So when you look in his eyes, what you see now?