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.