paroles de chanson Emergency Broadcast Syndrome - Every Time I Die
Position
the
phantom
rigged
in
reflective
tape.
Situated
like
a
makeshift
antenna,
grinning
like
tinfoil.
We're
losing
reception,
we
can't
pick
up
the
game.
I
should
be
discontinued.
I
am
a
broadcasting
embarrassment.
Hiss
like
the
damned.
Decoding
the
transmitted
pulse
that
dispatch
from
her
lips.
I
am
not
receiving
a
sign
that
says
i
am
still
here
anymore.
Do
you
hear
me?
Am
i
coming
through
at
all?
Is
any
of
this
making
sense?
You've
got
a
ghost
on
your
hands.
A
televisual
image
only
partially
clear.
Scrambled
phantom
(I
wish
we'd
all
just
stop
talking
at
once).
Spitting
and
cursing
from
the
scrapheap
we're
on.
You
should
have
lost
your
cool.
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