what we are is not under control we re the kids who won t do what we re told all the words that i carve out of my throat they keep me alive but keep me alone so i shove those things in microphones to feel like i might matter i don t wrap your scars around my radio let it hit soft and sweet and slow baby spit in my mouth so i can hold all of the junk you ve ever been told i m a last chance bet a neon ghost but man the dirtiest lights shine the most i blur all this hurt into sound 