الأغاني: Say Anything. In Defense Of The Genre. The Words You Wield.

You've got nowhere to go but up.
To where you'll dine with foreign kings.
You can't forget about our trist.
And all those other fleeting things.

And will they train you like a dog
And will they walk you down my street
The wind will whistle our old songs
The ones I'll always keep

You've got nowhere to go.
Nowhere to go.

I've got a bone to pick with you
About the argument we had
The day you got into that cab
And said my world is in your past

You've got nowhere to go.
Nowhere to go.

There must be something wrong with me.
My mind is just a sickly little alibi.
And why am I suprised you've given up on me?
Goodbye.
The word you're wielding like a knife.

You've got nowhere to go.
Nowhere to go

(Thanks to sam for these lyrics)