Lyrics:

I write songs, keeping my fingers crossed
They'll get me out of this place
Alright, alright, alright, alright
Flicking gasoline onto the walls and the floor
Holding two lit sirens, but I'm looking for more
I've got a spike I'm placing, five cans of mace
For some great friend to hold in my hand
Oh the local newsroom puts on funny things
I remember a story about a family tree
But I can't recall just how that story ends
But I can pretend, pretend, pretend
I can't think
Someone's sitting right in front of me
I need my personal space
Alright, alright, alright, alright
I write songs, keeping my fingers crossed
They'll get me out of this place
Alright, alright, alright, alright
I can't think
Someone's sitting right in front of me
I need my personal space
Alright, alright, alright, alright
I write songs, keeping my fingers crossed
They'll get me out of this place
Alright, alright, alright, alright