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The Ghost
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Mad Max Was an Amateur
Raise up the anchors and seal up the cracks
Self hate and microphones, we'll re-trace the maps
A beat up guitar and an amp I got for free
I compile blurred still frames from the blacktop seas
Weary bodies can't rest
We keep on moving
With a ringing in my ears and dust in my blood
With an empty wallet and a hungry soul
I don't have much to show, but I've got some stories to tell
College towns and apartment floors
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We repeat nocturnally and leave out the backdoor
We fight like brothers and party like thieves
Excess and irony, alcohol and trees
Weary bodies can't rest
We keep on moving
With a ringing in my ears and dust my blood
With an empty wallet and a hungry soul
I don't have much to show, but I've got some stories to tell
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