NO.1 Subway Freeway Highway

Jump on the highway
Cock up the subway
(pull back the trigger and shoot)
Ninety miles an hour,
Shooting through the freeway,
(unstoppable)
Don't take me down now
(don't you take me down now).

I don't want to let you know
(about the last bullet)
You are my first, you are my last,
You are everything in between,
I don't want to let you know
(that I still love you)

Maybe we could pass time by,
Maybe we could watch the world spin round,
Maybe we could just chew stalks and pick strawberries
(pull back the trigger and shoot)
We don't need the city,
We don't need the
buzz
We don't need
each other
(oh but do you know that I miss you?)

Jump on the highway
Cock up the subway
(pull back the trigger and shoot)
Ninety miles an hour,
Unstoppable,
Don't take me down now
(don't you take me down now).

Snarl in the mirror and pull back your upper lip,
Practise the grin you need to play your part,
(pull on your coat, grab your gun)
We're going all the way today,
We're taking them down today,
Subway freeway highway
(pull back the trigger, face your bitch and shoot!)
Shoot!
I missed!

Don't want to let you know,
(wasted the last bullet)
Don't want to let you know,
(we're not on the highway)
Close one eye and aim true,
(aim true)
They see us moving but they don't know,
When I whisper
(pull back the trigger and shoot that bitch)
They know we're unstoppable.

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NO.2 A Rush of Testosterone to the Head and a Rush of Blood to the Heart

Sometimes the sonnets are only haikus,
Sometimes the words are the heft lying on your tongue,
Sometimes the boy can't woo,
Sometimes the girl can't kiss,
Sometimes the friction in the jeans isn't enough to get the clothes off,
Sometimes the testosterone goes to the heart
and the rush of blood goes to the head.

But when the hands start fumbling
And when the chorus starts stumbling
We'll jump in
(we'll jump in)
With jeans falling down our hips,
With the ambulance blaring in the background of the second verse,
To get the girl to the brothel
To get the boy back to the skate-park
(to get the testosterone back to the head)
(to get the blood back to the heart)
To put you back where you belong.

Sometimes the sonnets are only haikus,
Sometimes the words are the heft lying on your tongue,
Sometimes the boy can't woo,
Sometimes the girl can't kiss,
Sometimes the friction in the jeans isn't enough to get the clothes off,
Sometimes the testosterone goes to the heart
and the rush of blood goes to the head.

But remember you aren't a guitarist,
So don't get too ambitious,
We all know you're good at sleeping around,
But stringing together the words
are still quite beyond you,
So maybe you're better off with that short skirt
Hanging off your hips,
So maybe you're better off alone,
Because you don't know how to string it together
(how to make a song)
You can't figure out where to put the testosterone
And where to put the blood.

Sometimes the sonnets are only haikus,
Sometimes the words are the heft lying on your tongue,
Sometimes the boy can't woo,
Sometimes the girl can't kiss,
Sometimes the friction in the jeans isn't enough to get the clothes off,
Sometimes the testosterone goes to the heart
and the rush of blood goes to the head.

You aired your sheets and tightened your bra straps,
You put some aftershave on and washed your hair,
You got all ready for this special night,
But when your hands start to fumble and the words begin to trip,
Maybe you aren't ready for this sort of therapy
(for this sort of sympathy)
Maybe you're better off alone,
(maybe)
But don't threaten me now
I'm only singing the song back to you,
I'm only the conscience dangling on your shoulder,
I'm invisible when you look into the mirror,
And realise that the testosterone belonged in the head,
And the blood belonged in the heart.

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