The image of the dead
Dead ends in my mind
Policemen swear to god
Love's seeping from the guns
I know my friends and I
Would probably turn and run
If you get out of bed
Come find us heading for the bridge
Bring a stone
All the rage
My little dark age
I grieve in stereo
The stereo sounds strange
I know that if you hide
It doesn't go away
If you get out of bed
And find me standing all alone
Open-eyed
Burn the page
My little dark age