Lay in the middle
I'll be in the basement
Time the rhythm
Racing on the gold card
Hey, middle finger
Sticking through the eye
Of poor little thinkers
Made in the sun
I'm bleeding from the wounds
From cutting to the chase
From beating round the bush
Then burns when we embrace
And braces for the teeth
That long for what's beneath
The skin that hides the [bad word] 
From time, from the [bad word] 

Let it in
Let our love tear you down
And begin
To be found

Lets it to the silence
Of the rhythm of my bones decay
I'm still hiding from my mother
In the fatherland of manly faith
Woke up [bad word] on the job
My head was smoking from the US of 
Now I'm tearing down the drapes
 [bad word] consequence

Let it in
Let our love tear you down
And begin
To be found

Let it in
Let our love tear you down
And begin
To be found