Bats Flew Up
Robert Pollard
Bats flew up from the hell of house in the flames of a tribe
Where the social lights bleed in the mixtly breed
They are names with a clutch
Alien parts been the proper nest with the lost and strenuous gang slips
Still they know cake and the shop they hate
To hear Faust explaining his hot lips
Bow behind the cellular line
Beneath the noise and counter words
See them come and see them hide
They whisper songs down to the sides, alright
3xAh alright