Trope
de Johnathan Blake
Can't get off the ground in this holding pattern town
They put these buildings up just to bring me down
And I don't trust my friends any more than I trust the cops
Any more than I trust this dirty air that's burning up my lungs
So I'm giving it up
I'm giving it up
I'm giving it up for good
So I'm giving it up
I'm giving it up
I'm giving it up for good
My baby looks at me like her long lost prince of thieves
Sometimes it's not enough to get only what you need
And I know I need her like the concrete needs the rain
Like a drunk needs ice in his glass like a ball needs a chain
I'm giving it up
I'm giving it up
I'm giving it up for good
So I'm giving it up
I'm giving it up
I'm giving it up for good
This is paradise
The place you come to die
I'm giving it up
I'm giving it up
I'm giving it up for good
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