Sangtekst: Metric. White Gold.

Piss poor, riding high, sunbathing fireside. We're here for the porn or the sirloin
Get your T-bone, let your backbone slide, tunnel and sky collide
Lose friends to the airwaves and the airlines

I want to make it right, some future in my eyes (bright)
Hush don't explain when you water down my name
I'll be up too late, call me when you get better at your game
You haven't beat me yet.

The waitress, the actress has got the skin and the bones
With the hairbrush and an air brush she'd be white gold.
She asked the piss poor "Why are you looking for that party in the sky?
It's just a movie about a movie, too old to die"

I'm going to make it right
You haven't beat me yet though my vision is strained.