Fahrenheit 4:51 o’clock, all is ticking, no one’s talking All the books are burnt and the media is chalking it up to an accident A governmental misstep, call it governmental illness Burn the books, kick down the doors and kill the witnesses Never send an arsonist to burn down a pyrokinetic “Can I kill it,” asked the fire and I let it. Let the heat take the flesh and the crows take the rest. Post-hardcore, I’m post-apocalypse. Dumpster, mansion, red carpet alleyway, king of the vagrants, prince of assailants. All I have are titles. Anyway, I like it this way, I’d like it to stay dirty, grimy, dark anarchy, rotten, urban decay. Always send an anarchist to settle fights and bouts where you’re betting Nothing changes. Constant winner, different setting. Let the world go to rest when they give up their best.
