Let's go get out in the street Somebody's gotta Let's get the stars to align For lambs to slaughter
In the photographs Their eyes make a signal path And the feeling goes on and on and on and on and on And on and on and on
Don't it feel like friday night? Cars are all lined up Let it go push you around Oh, what's it amount to?
Card sharks and street preachers want my soul All the sellers and palm readers want my soul Post sermon socialites Park enchanters and skin tights All they want's my soul Yeah, they want my soul
In the photograph Your eyes make a signal path And the feeling goes on and on and on and on and on And on and on and on
Let's go lose track of time Somebody's gotta Let's get the stars to align For lambs to slaughter
Educated folk singers want my soul Jonathon fisk still wants my soul I got nothing I want to say to 'em They got nothing left that I want All they want's my soul Yes, yes, I know it They want my soul
They want my soul Oh ah, want my soul Oh ah, they want my soul Oh ah, they want my soul
