It's too late.
It's too late.
I talked.
I told them everything.
I confessed my long list of crimes to all the subway suicides.
Not absolved but laid bare.
And the secret double lives of all the rat race patriarchs go on and on - and let them die there. I've looked through all the windows.
I've gone through all the drawers.
More empty now than ever before.
We're going down to hell together or not at all.
And the dead hollow shells of consumer investments that promised completion
But just left more holes to fill - let 'em kill.
I've got one for the fatalists that like to fuck the mannequins.
So who's the deviant in this success story?
It's too late.
It's too late.
It's too late.
I confessed - sold you out.
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