a three-way deathmatch between franz ferdinand, frantz fanon & franz kafka for possession of my eternal soul

i'm not in the business of loosening lips or playing games, but rather sinking ships and laying blames. give me a border right now and i'll cross it, honest. gush down the drain into you like from a faucet. tallest tale i could ever tell: finding my way to safety from this hell. i guess the difference is distance. i'll hack through every vine that i can see, but the only one looking out for mine is me, so i'll play it safest when i'm feeling bravest. take projected earnings and revenge burnings and sudden turnings in stride. i don't have feelings so who really cares what i look like inside? liars and cheats, and "just trying to make ends meets." we're all in this together. and while it seems like forever, in a few minutes we'll wish for a change in design. from the other side, things seem so strange, besides.