Wake up, we've got countless more brain cells to destroy - we can lose feelings on the thirteenth floor tonight. Heavy eyelids close - you focus on slow thought process on where to go from here. Blackouts and regrettable nights and night's air rushing by your face won’t make this better. Grab your head. The world is spinning round and round, and you wake up lying on the rug. An open window calls to you. From deflated lungs, whisper out a prayer. We can’t change what we’ve done and we can’t change who we’ve become. It’s old news baby, it’s old news.
