�now� �its� �time� �to wrap our fears in the night�
�and on the first day... �we'll dress this city in flames... �after all the things you say... �you hate me for being this way! � � �still you won't let go� �of old ideals� �there is no headline... �to read at night� �when the record slips� �and you're not holding the needle� � �we all sing the songs of separation� �and we watch our lives� �bleed out through our hands� �that's how it was� �on the first day� �we saw Paris in flames� � �I think it's going to rain, rain down... �I think it's gonna rain� � �here in this collapsed lung of a borough� �there is no sunlight� �the sunlight is manufactured in a windowless room� �distant and incoherent� �businessmen hang themselves � �_... �we all sing the songs of separation� �and we watch our lives� �bleed out through our hands� �thats how it was� �on the first day� �we saw Paris in flames�
�_... �the lower east side is a jukebox playing the deadman's crescendo� �the needle is a vector� �an intersection that well all must cross� �a dimly lit hallway where shadows of moths decorate the walls� �discard this message... �_... �burn this city down! �_...
�discard this message... �throw this bottle back in the ocean... �rip this page from the history books ... �smash all the street signs... �erase all the maps... �forget my name... �forget my face.... �forget my name! � �because it's going to rain� �_... �and it never ends�