Punk is Dead

Our separate bedrooms
These punks are dead
There's too many setbacks
And now they sit stoned instead
Dear manic girl, from outer space
The sun is breathing holes into me

Is saying nothing at all better than saying it wrong?

Twist me upside down with your vision
An even better act by an even better stand-in
Hollar on the roof to the dogs next door
A light I can't take anymore
The future's below me
Good dreams out of reach
I'll meet you in December
On the coldest plastic beach
Far away from the beginning
We'll meet again

Is saying nothing at all better than saying it wrong?



Credits
Writer(s): Thomas Bjorkstrand
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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