Chrome Lung

Finnigan Fink collected aerosol tins As a kid he sucked the air out of antiperspirant Called it sweet, insolent, inhalation, innocent eyes Deodorising parental concern Grew up with a gut, working half a job Dismissing kindness with the kick of a donation bucket Soon that bucket will be his life The kick will be a repressed high Cracked out, got nothing to do Sitting in the dark, singing the blues King of the couch, I'm coming for you Gonna make a seance out of your room Feet up, TV on, cartoons or pretty blondes He searches for himself underneath his belt He feels a prick, draws blood and hopes to god they don't smell But the vicious incision continues to swell Chrome lung, no fun makes the shadows dance Blood spray becomes a stream, the shadow's advance Higher they rise now Turn his house into a dank storm cloud You've been looking out the window as the seasons change Trying to look good, trying to save face You burnt out, bored rat in a cage Gonna trap you in your own head space Finnigan, face to face with an old friend The TV speaks, but Finn turns his head He knows those infomercials they hold no truth The search for youth will be the death of you 'Hey you!' that voice, 'I'm here to take you away' High up in the clouds, this time you're gonna stay I know that you're scared, why don't you take my hand Finnigan was never seen again Oh boy, been long since you left home Step into your mind, you'll find it's covered in chrome Finn, my man the apparitions are true We're coming for you