And it's true that we're teenage fools
Trading five days a week to work and school
Just to sneak around on weekends watching for the cops
To waltz in abandoned parking lots
And call these cracks in the system a revolution
But to the Vanguard Party that's criticizing: what have you been up to the Soviet Union?
When you're not starving, life is just the mechanics of eating

Talking to you is raw eternity, but what isn't these days?
And if our only gift is this dark black void, well, to me that's okay
Because our nihilism is the terrorist wing of youthful apathy
Burn everything down just to drink in the ruins of what used to be an American city

So if it's all the same, then I'll pass out tonight still hating punk rock
But in love with you and the kitchen floor that you let me sleep on

There's whiskey in my bottle!
And you know there's enough for you
I'll join you in that grave you're digging if there's room enough for two
Where there's no risk of death, life is just the logistics of breath

Tomorrow I'll wake up in a ditch
With every friend that ever meant anything
On the opposite side of the country
But i still wouldn't trade anything for the nights when the rain promised us at 2 AM
In some burnout industrial shell of a town that will never be dry again
And I'll keep walking
And running
And drinking, towards a day that I can see suicide as a tragedy