Small Town Syndrome

Blew another, blew another, blew another gasket with two in the trunk, one in the back

Fill another, fill another, fill another casket, go fuel at the pump, and hit the gas

Gotta get out, foot down and go, go, go

Gotta get out, or it's your funeral

Gotta get out, get out and go, go, go

This city talks, trust me

Everybody knows

Everybody knows you're a mess

Get up and go, everybody knows

That you wear the blood on your hands

That's, that's everybody

Even your skeletons remember what you did

It's not your paranoia

You're in the city of the dead

City of the dead

So take a look outside, the condition

It's small-town syndrome and big-time lows

You hardly knew them, just avert your eyes

Freeway exit closing, put your foot down and drive

Gotta get out, foot down and go, go, go

Gotta get out, or it's your funeral

Gotta get out, get out and go, go, go

This city talks, and I know

Everybody knows

Everybody knows you're a mess

Get up and go, everybody knows

That you wear the blood on your hands

That's, that's everybody

Even your skeletons remember what you did

Bloodsucker

Just strap yourself in, motherfucker

Now you're approaching the skyline

And as you shoot through the sunrise

Just think

You gave it all away to feel alone

You gave it all away to feel, and you feel alone

Even your skeletons remember what you did

Feel alone

Even your skeletons remember what you did

Feel alone