Let's go get out in the street

Somebody's gotta

Let's get the stars to align

For lambs to slaughter In the photographs

Their eyes make a signal path

And the feeling goes on and on and on and on and on

And on and on and on Don't it feel like Friday night?

Cars are all lined up

Let it go push you around

Oh, what's it amount to? Card sharks and street preachers want my soul

All the sellers and palm readers want my soul

Post sermon socialites

Park enchanters and skin tights

All they want's my soul

Yeah, they want my soul In the photograph

Your eyes make a signal path

And the feeling goes on and on and on and on and on

And on and on and on Let's go lose track of time

Somebody's gotta

Let's get the stars to align

For lambs to slaughter Educated folk singers want my soul

Jonathon Fisk still wants my soul

I got nothing I want to say to 'em

They got nothing left that I want

All they want's my soul

Yes, yes, I know it

They want my soul They want my soul

Oh ah, want my soul

Oh ah, they want my soul

Oh ah, they want my soul