Texty: Pretty Girls Make Graves. The New Romance. All Medicated Geniuses.

There's the kid with the golden arm
He admits to the forest fire
That he started up from a lack of
Something better going on
Tell your friends it's a four alarm
Just a smoke screen, we're all liars
Better to stew in discontent
That to admit we're wrong

All motivations out to see
Our ideas die so quickly

This town has good hearts
Bad blood, emotional scars
Never getting to say
What you really want to say

We all lie so well

If misery loves company
And you seem to sleep
So much more soundly
To the song of other people's
Failures:.

Doctor, do you have a remedy?
This is not alright by me
Do you think that you have the trick?
For a city that's so spent and sick?

We all lie so well