Lead me through these cities of imaginary trends.
Something's gonna be changing,
come the morning time my friend.
As fickle as these streets are,
they might not even wait around ‘til then….
I've got a lot to lose,
so come take it from me quick.
Everything you lose makes you stronger,
makes you sick.
Take these cities from me…
I'll build buildings up with my own bare hands.

The uppers arent necessary,
the guilt is a coal.
It keeps the fire burning
to dry it out
to cold .
It creeps in every corner crack,
And never leaves you alone…
‘til the lonely messengers come calling you back home.

The trees are stacked in rows on the side of the road,
stripped of any dignity birthing may have had.
A hundred thousand crucified on
the more highly off aisle the line.
Singing shepards and salesmen were longing for someone
to kill the joy of wandering and end all their desire,
to help them remember that the road is nothing but a lie…

The uppers arent necessary,
the guilt is a coal.
It keeps the fire burning,
to dry it out
to cold.
It creeps in every corner crack
and never leaves you alone,
‘til the lonely messengers come calling you back

to the red door cracked and crooked walkway
fence impaling start.
Ghostly keepers lead the way through railroads of abandoned cars.
The Tracks and city streets cut through like scars…

The uppers aren't necessary,
the guilt is a coal.
It keeps the fire burning
to dry it out
to cold.
It creeps in every corner crack
and never leaves you alone…
‘til the lonely messengers come calling you back home.
Back home.