Can’t think
Can’t see
Can’t run
They’ve got a bead on me
I’m done

Can’t talk
Can’t hear
White hot
Backed in a corner with
No shot

I’m fucked
Six ways to Sunday now
Undone

I’m unguarded and
Bombarded
With the lights and the stereo panic
Surrounded
I’m thinking burn it down
Burn it all down
I’m thinking burn it down
Burn it all down