Walking down the streets with our heads
lifted high and mighty we're the
best that's ever gazed upon this
shitshow excuse for a city
our black clothing, bright stigmata
pale and rosy goddesses are
looking down upon the streets
with unabashed pity now
what's the catalyst for the continental drift?
I tried to write you a song about Pangea
When we kissed each other on the
face I saw the face of every
passerby look at us with disdain and
their disgust when I walked
back to my old car the eyes of
every passing bearded man caused
me to wonder if my teeth would
wind up on the cold pavement
I'm the catalyst for the continental drift.
I tried to write you a song about Pangea
I could try to blame it on the
situation we were placed in
but that doesn't satisfy the
questions that I ask myself
I don't know what I was thinking I
wish I were not serpentine I
wish that there were some way I could
tell you that I am so sorry
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