Twelve I Would Set Myself On Fire For You

[12.1:]
No, well not patiently serenade and await
The coming of all that is ours for the taking
Come hither cooing from our lips escapes
No soft whispered, therefore not poetry
Well, accent our lives
This trial's so desperate and dire
So hackneyed, held hardly together
By our hoarse screams heard only between
What's sewn in song
The stitching seems so severely immaterial, I'm sure
But this is ours
Produced for our pleasure, not yours
Not yours

[12.2:]
On these words of our evolving truth
We've patterned our lives, building bolt by bolt
Laying floorboards and walls with our sweat and our blood
And our ten blistered hands to uproot our old plans
To throw off and leave
To leave, yes, we will leave this place
For a life not contrived by those that came before us

Pack your bags, hurry up
Get the van, we're heading up
Pack your bags, hurry up
Get the van, we're heading up
Pack your bags, hurry up
Get the van, we're heading up
Pack your bags, hurry up
Get the van, we're heading up
Tell your dad that we're going, we're going