Can you tell from the way we wear our scars so well?
We've got a reason to be cynical
You can tell from the razorblades we smuggle in our mouths
we've got a reason to be critical
We've got nowhere to go and everyone knows
That's how it goes around here
We've got stacks and piles of dead WAV files
Nobody smiles around here
So we stopped dropping quarters in the wishing well
We don't need it We don't need another love song
We don't need it I know you're not speaking to me
We're all sick of standing in line waiting to die
We've got reasons to think it's pitiful
We've got a new way to dance, a new way to move
We write our own rules around here
We've got piles and stacks of dead soundtracks
We write our own anthems down here
We write our own rules and we write our own anthems