New tongues for grass and a half a year's past for brats who singnnNew songs for friends who dirty their pants with mud in my handsnnOf course you want menOf course you want menOf course you want me to feel the way you donnI was born to die my friendsnand we are the closest to the endnof our lives and your cryptic face is filling me with painnnOoh I hate younOoh I hate younMy life's alright without you