Quiet Slang
Filthy Luck
I’m a slave to always fucking up
It’s not okay, but maybe it’s enough
Kids like us are weird, and more, we’re brave
We tie our tongues and turn them into rage

And the night’s still young
And we’re dumb enough to fall

Carve your name soft across my lungs
I want to breathe you until I’m numb
We’re not loved, well, hardly, anyway
With filthy luck in such a filthy haze

But the night’s still young
And we’re dumb enough to fall

Turn the amps up to nine
I don’t want it too loud
I gave you taste and a spine
Now I hope you drown

Is there a lie in the lights or the shine of this town?
This guitar wants to die