Patron Saint of Pale - American Football (Impressão)

I was born cursed with two left feet

And I can't keep dancing to the beats of all your dumb old drums

For Lord Frail, the Patron Saint of Pale

Sedatives and therapists

There must be a better way to settle this

Let's play rochambeau (oh)

One, two, three, run (oh)

If you win, I'll never ask to play again

I'll come home, like nothing ever happened

Silence descends in tears, subjective truths

Once filled forever home, now filled too

Fuck it, let's play rochambeau (oh)

One, two, three, run (oh)

If I win, I'll never have to dance again

Damn your dumb drums, damn your frailties

Me and my left feet are leaving (oh)

(Oh)

I can't bathe in your ways anymore

I'd rather be profane and chased and bored

Ooh

(Oh)