So You're a Touring Band Now
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Lyrics
Blow in through the door Like a ghost that is nice My crosshairs align and my grip is tight My friends are bullets That I shot at tin cans No feathers no wings No feet and no beaks And no place to land No place to land When you finally come home Don't be surprised If there's rust in my throat and red in my eyes My friends are knives That cut out my tongue No songs and no beats no words left to speak Just utters and grunts Utters and grunts Drive ten thousand miles Just to tear off your arm Just to play the guitar and recite a poem My friends are bottles That I dropped on the ground They shatter and break And they always take Too long to come home Too long to come home
Audio Features
Song Details
- Duration
- 03:04
- Key
- 7
- Tempo
- 123 BPM