Young Lungs

(альбом: 52 Weeks - 2009)

I've conjured up a plan
As a sentimental man
To destroy our things in style

It involves our belongings in a pile
Some lighter fluid and a smile
And some matches with "Chicago" inscribed on every stick

Strangers could see the flames for miles
From any highway or any hilltop
And we'd pass out as the smoke billows and spills into our young lungs

With what strength that we'd have left
We'd save each other's final breaths
For a distressed phone call to 9-1-1

And in minutes they'd arrive
Horrified at what they might find
It'd be you and I and a pile of ashes, hand in hand and in each others arms
Hand in hand and in each other's arms
Hand in hand and in each other's arms

But it's not that bad
They revived me on the scene and took my temperature and pulse
And while the handsome paramedic gave you mouth-to-mouth, I bit my tongue
In hopes they could save your life
In hopes they could save your life
Just you and I and a pile of ashes, hand in hand and in each others arms

In a week when we look back
We'll be bandaged up, but laugh it off
And your skin might be thicker and my stuff, it might be gone
But we'll have crammed everything we need in this song
We'll have everything we'd need inside this song
Just you and I and a pile of ashes, hand in hand and in each others arms