I write songs, keeping my fingers crossed They'll get me out of this place Alright, alright, alright, alright Flicking gasoline onto the walls and the floor Holding two lit sirens, but I'm looking for more I've got a spike I'm placing, five cans of mace For some great friend to hold in my hand Oh the local newsroom puts on funny things I remember a story about a family tree But I can't recall just how that story ends But I can pretend, pretend, pretend I can't think Someone's sitting right in front of me I need my personal space Alright, alright, alright, alright. I write songs, keeping my fingers crossed They'll get me out of this place Alright, alright, alright, alright I can't think Someone's sitting right in front of me I need my personal space Alright, alright, alright, alright. I write songs, keeping my fingers crossed They'll get me out of this place Alright, alright, alright, alright