curbstyle wet, cold 2am street concrete catches my feet I am the arrow flung from the bow after the defeat assembly line streetlight eyes watch as I flee ignition switch positioning complete her pleading's my pedestrian parachute but I was doused in this petrol so long ago I've got gears for organs and oil for blood I'm the engine in the hearse of the funeral procession I am the man who invented regret I am the match; it's lifespan and action I deteriorate all I see magnesium paper carbon oxygen I ignite and burn I am