Young Lungs - Into It. Over It.

I’ve conjured up a plan

As a sentimental man

To destroy our things in style

It involves our belongings in a pile

Some lighter fluid and a smile

And some matches with «Chicago» inscribed on every stick

Strangers could see the flames for miles

From any highway or any hilltop

And we’d pass out as the smoke billows and spills into our young lungs

With what strength that we’d have left

We’d save each other’s final breaths

For a distressed phone call to 9−1-1

And in minutes they’d arrive

Horrified at what they might find

It’d be you and I and a pile of ashes, hand in hand and in each others arms

Hand in hand and in each other’s arms

Hand in hand and in each other’s arms

But it’s not that bad

They revived me on the scene and took my temperature and pulse

And while the handsome paramedic gave you mouth-to-mouth, I bit my tongue

In hopes they could save your life

In hopes they could save your life

Just you and I and a pile of ashes, hand in hand and in each others arms

In a week when we look back

We’ll be bandaged up, but laugh it off

And your skin might be thicker and my stuff, it might be gone

But we’ll have crammed everything we need in this song

We’ll have everything we’d need inside this song

Just you and I and a pile of ashes, hand in hand and in each others arms