Everyone's standing in line
Under the smell of it, it's making me sick
And physical size makes you right
And the walls are like paper and ice

Speak to me, revolution boy
Come out to me, daughter of joy
I am the collector of things
And all of the pain it brings

Now tell me the lessons we botched
And lead me to the oxygen tent
And who will be the speaker of the day?
And can I exchange my surprise?

Spеak to me, revolution boy
Come out to mе, daughter of joy
I am the collector of things
And all of the pain it brings

His mannerisms have scared us
But is there any other way?
Someone grab my wishes
Someone do the dishes

Speak to me, revolution boy
Come out to me, daughter of joy
I am the collector of things
And all of the pain it brings
I am the collector of things
All of the pain it brings
I am the collector of things
All of the pain it brings