Home from the party,
All your face
In blood and guts.
Smells like Christmas.
Smells like dog shit.
To the problem child,
A problem smiled.
Stepping on the one
Who always wins Defender.
Drunk, stoned.
Still disabled.
Kicked in the ribs,
Hidden under the table.
Don't dare believe it.
Don't dare believe the news.
Don't dare believe the good news.
Hey Missle Commander,
No one understands you.
No one lifts a hand
Standing right in front of you.
And if I see you at the show,
Then I'll see you and you'll know.
Exactly where we stand
In the back row.
Dreaming of the front row.
Walking all over our one true...
Don't dare believe it.
Don't dare believe the news.
Don't dare believe the good news.
Writer(s): Mark Price, Eric Bachmann, William Johnson, Matthew Gentling
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com