Kept the other kids in the dark
to eat around the bad parts,
knowing it backwards and forwards.
Culled a creeping paranoia
about our freak scene's perestroika
in darkened corners.
'Cause we know all the songs
so we own all the songs
and we're at home
in backseats, asleep or wasted.
We're all gone.
Seventeen is all you need
to get yourself some kinda speed,
get panicked and sick as
we ignore the pride that would destroy us
and the diseases that enjoyed us—
newborn stupid;
we've got the hubris to do this.
We're embittered, thickly settled
where all the pots attack the kettles.