The pattern on this rug tells a story    It's gory chaos but ordered and hoary    And I hate it but strangely respect it like Gasoline       Now I'm lying in the fetal position    I know I never should have been a musician    When I knew my ears would lose their audition    Gasoline    I like the way you smell    Gasoline    I never knew I knew you so well       We always know just what to do    Until the future comes    Now look what we've been through       Only cowards seek refuge in a second language    I should have learned how to speak my native one    I was afraid I wouldn't know how to use my tongue    Gasoline    You're more than a finished product    Running down the aqueduct       What I should do and what I do are like brothers    They're driven by so much more than they're needed    That they're blinded they can't see they're both    driven by    Gasoline leaking through an empty tank    Gasoline    The future's never what I think       I thought we knew what we were doing    But we've considered the unthinkable