Resting himself on his crutches, suspicious stories which are fakenLaughter was growing around in a stranger's soundnHolding his stutter in his hands and carving his words to demandsnPsychotic byonic he was as he splutters his wordsnnTouched by the freakbeating phantom, I'm holding onnnConfusion cuts in the air, if I was granted one wishnI'd whisk off the girl with the white jeans for a singles night's blissnRevising thoughts of stately homes as the party continuesnThe bright lights eluminates the, the freakbeat eluminates the night