Girls! Girls! The city is sick!
God only knows if we'll make it through this
There's beds on top of ambulances
A place where you sleep
You're nauseous from the bleach that you need to soak your sheets
Your lipstick's pretty crude across the mask over your mouth
But I warn you in the memory of your lips underneath:
Carry a torch and trust the wrench but
Get out! Get out! Get out!
Girls! Girls! The city is sick!
I know you're more unhealthy than you care to admit
When the city is embracing you, you can't feel anything else
You're more familiar with the streets than you are with yourself
Your name is engraved in the frames of every house
But I warn you because you never meant to stay
Carry a torch and trust the wrench but
Get out! Get out! Get out!
All the doctors and the architects wash their hands
What would you expect?
All the doctors and the architects wash their hands
What would you expect?
Your ears can hear the choirs sing
The death of their important things
And every note a call to end
Anatomies and atlases
The simple maps, they help advise
They comprise and compromise
The place we are when we stand still
The space we feel, the urge to fill
Girls! Girls! The city is sick!
There's bruises on your tongue cuz you don't know when to quit
There's blood stitched in your skirt that won't wash off in the lake
And glass in your teeth so that you know when you're awake
If you're gonna keep together, you're gonna have to move quick
I only warn you cuz I knew you before you were sick
Carry a torch and trust the wrench but
Get out! Get out! Get out!