there's someone running through the ramp parkade   spilling out over the sides like brush fire   burning the roof top concrete   and bouncing off pillars in the oil stain dark   Stabbing out holes in white walls   wrist wrapped fist   let it out! let it out!   cutting though clothes      I keep a close eye on the skyline   who's in the paper and who sings the blues   who sits down at the back   who stands in line   who's got nothing else left to lose   stabbing out holes in white walls   wrist wrapped fist   let it out! let it out!   cutting though clothes      seriously loud   this is a serious town   violently not making a sound