There's a cold rejection of a crime, tha't's been fuelled by jealousies and wine, and the room is expanding from the heat, that pours from my my mouth when I speak How can you be sure? How can you be sure? Am I painting my life on your walls? lt's not a coming of age - I'll be the back row; you can be the stage We sure won't be happy't for a while and I'm lost like a rich man's child and the' world can compound me by my feet but I'm drawn to the chaos of the streets Can you take_ anymore? Can you take_ anymore? Are we laying our bodies to war if's not that hard or me to say - That I'll be the back row; you can be the stage the words stain the silence i'n my head as the' distant artist paints the set and I've found the begging of decay, eroding time and change away But ' l've' been so bored I've'been so bored I've been tracing the lines that she draws and I lost myself in her ways I'll be the back row; you can be that sad sad stage