By Torpedo or Crohn’s WHY?

Sleeping late, I
Hear the sad horns of labor trucks sigh
My neighbor walks by
High heels click dry
Like half a proud horse down Brook
I hear somebody's babbling I mistook
For a cavalry
Whispering "victory" to the sparks in their kindling
But, but all their green woods wet and unmet
As of yet by the gases aflame
Pressing against the pending physics of my passed down last name
Living in the tear between two spaces condemned
In one of the many places you're not, I am
Hiding from my friends in the bathroom at Thrift Town
To write this tune down

Na na na na na na na na
Da na na na na na na na na
Just... doesn't... stop
Da da da da na na na na
Da na na na na na na na na
Just... doesn't... stop
Da da da da na na na na
Da na na na na na na na na
Just... doesn't... stop
Da da da da na na na na
Da na na na na na na na na