Punch-Drunk Punk Rock Romance

Pressed the seven sequenced silver panic buttons,

The distress calls that fall on a distracted short-wave signal.

A metronome timed to my panic stricken breathing

And a pulse conducted by our dying lines.

You said my heart sounded like a payphone in the rain.

Distorted, distant, scrambled and desperate.

Baby, i swear to god tonight i am sober.

It's the reception between us that's failing.

Everything's coming out all frenzied and confused.

She's got what it takes to make collapsing a habit

And a dance out of a tantrum fit (it's tragic but i am sobering up).

Pick up the phone.

Tonight i feel like the hero of a rusting war.

My touch has the timing and precision of a car wreck.

No use translating the trembles.

They're symptoms of repetitive testing for fluctuation.

If i come back home, i am bringing back the bends.

So give me a kiss. let me taste the reptilian appeal.

Say it again baby. does it turn you on? does it get you hot?

I get a little hysterical sometimes.

The panic you shouldn't have been so sentimental.

All that kicking and screaming.

Everything i touch starts peeling.

We malfunction like machines.

Get up off the floor and answer the phone.

I want to be a big star.

Didn't want to touch so hard.

Open the door.

I am your deviant satellite, an orbit defected by the ballast of words.

You're the reason for collisions.

I am face down like a sailor washed up under your window.

Tonight is a shipwreck.

Navigating through disorder.

Now every electric star hums like a telecaster.

How punk rock is that?

You're so oblivious.

Baby, you're my oblivion.