Cold-Calling

You’d be proud of me
With an echo like a parking garage
Constantly blinking like a clock
So flammable
Burning as long as you want

You won’t get sick of me
Like the bubbles underneath our skin
Full of indifferent poison
That just give up
When they’re about to win

Oh, but we’ve spent the last three years cold-calling for saviors
But all that drunk, breathless machinery will just get worse
Till we freeze up
Freeze up

You won’t recognize me, yeah
All rewired electronics
No longer haunted by numbers and lists
I don’t feel so trapped, oh, no
Now that I’ve named all the bricks

Yeah, I think you’d like me
Every bullet needs a gun
And you’re still fresh inside my lungs
That flashbulb popped, oh
And I’m still stunned

Oh, but I’ve been frantically cold-calling for saviors
But none of those restless static voices sound like yours

So pick up
Pick up
Oh, pick up

And let me know