The pattern on this rug tells a story
It's gory chaos but ordered and hoary
And I hate it but strangely respect it like Gasoline
Now I'm lying in the fetal position
I know I never should have been a musician
When I knew my ears would lose their audition
Gasoline
I like the way you smell
Gasoline
I never knew I knew you so well
We always know just what to do
Until the future comes
Now look what we've been through
Only cowards seek refuge in a second language
I should have learned how to speak my native one
I was afraid I wouldn't know how to use my tongue
Gasoline
You're more than a finished product
Running down the aqueduct
What I should do and what I do are like brothers
They're driven by so much more than they're needed
That they're blinded they can't see they're both
driven by
Gasoline leaking through an empty tank
Gasoline
The future's never what I think
I thought we knew what we were doing
But we've considered the unthinkable

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