Pilot Light کے بول

I don't know why I'm tired, Possibly I'm nervous about a girl that heard us play The song about that time You were into race cars, comic books, her pockmarked thighs. I found my father's gun Underneath his Hustler magazines and tin foil pipes, Our day had finally come, What a waste of time! She was sweet and pale, a chopstick through her hair, Shaking out the static from her velvet dress, Wooden chairs and half moons spilled across her legs. Let's just be cautious, I never thought I'd last this long, I never thought I'd make it. She could fit a cue ball inside her mouth and whistle, thereby demonstrating everything: Her backward logic, hatred, lovesick, and painful headtrip... I checked the pilot light, It's out; we're in for one cold night, I must admit, I'm terrified Of spiders, shadows, bloodshot eyes.