This is our party and we'll die if we want to!
We're dressed for war, we have no-one to k**.
Does anybody bleed within these walls?
The loud, loud, quiet sound penetrates our bones.
Her scream is getting softer.
I thought that I could hear sadness in you voice.
Does anybody bleed within these walls?
In this room we're all educated.
We were warned about the dangers of this sport,
In this room we're all professional,
We always use persuasive adjectives and tones...
The soft electricity of gramophone crackling beneath her wet cotton voice.
Compliments how sensual I feel about her right now.
Into a pillow she recites these warning like muffled poetry.
But if we'd kept our clothes on how dangerous would this be?
This connection, is delicate.
"From real life we're inspired" SO we said,
Don't listen, just hear it,
Blood on these walls.