We can sit around this fire all together Senescent or innocent we're all the same Our friends they're all around us singing softly They don't really care about a blame
There is no koalas on the left our shoulders Whispering obscenities into our ears So we have no special aims or destination Wandering along the road to hell
Gazing at the gates of your extended pupils Holding fingers covered with a sticky sweat Watching as your face takes on uncertain expression I swear I'll let you play my clarinet