The runners shaking their hands at the end Dont beat age and grow like a Ask your parade while you know
Peoples backstreet ways fall into place They track down lies and recognize
Make your choice, they wanna make you raise your voice And what is this, lifes feeling like a ride of bliss To you and you dont feel like going against the great today
I believe you dont see it either Strike at sunrise and your battalion
One hundred seventy now, three sounds day A hundred and twenty lives in history approximately Im not quite sure youre quiet out of breath
Backstreet ways into place Chase down grief to wallow and make belief Got it with whatever way, were gonna die someone in between theres life
I believe you dont see it either Strike at sunrise and your battalion