Lyrics:

Look! He drank straight from the faucet
Holy shit he's fucking lost it
We only enjoy fine sparkling water
Fed something adhesive to your daughter (x2)

Called me old-fashioned, but I think trains kick ass
I don't need hot wheels to get to class

What the hell is wrong with him?
His his hairs so long it needs a trim!
I heard he packs a lot in those bloomers
It's probably true, like all the other rumors

You think you're modern
But that taste won't last (it just won't last)
And everything you own
Will be (will be)
The fucking past (the fucking past)

Cynicism save me
Turn me around and march me back up the sidewalk to my door
Take me back inside and throw my trench-coat on the floor.
Lead me back into my bedroom
And make me put my cloths back on

Grab the mag-lite, get the grappling hook,
Lets find the bottom of this cave and close the book!

The salt on my lips is an enzyme
That metabolizes reality
To fuel these dirty delusions
You're leading me to these conclusions
The organs exploding
In my torso
Like a series of city blocks
Giving in to a nuclear blast

And now my pressure relief valve is activated
Maybe I should stop holding my breath
I'll prove it, come sit next to me
Tell me what you do at work
You half-hearted intimacy

We'll be like gay actors, over and out,
Having the kind of sex sacrificial virgins fantasize about

But if I knew your name it would have to be for charity
Just try me, test me, release me!
Cynicism reassure me that
If we only had less clothing and better light
It would all just be an embarrassing misunderstanding
The sudden silences aren't the crash where lips should be

If this were a contract I wouldn't sign