Fair To Midland - A Wolf Descends On The Spanish Sahara

If you're keeping score, then you're bound to win,
A bird's eye view of a burning bridge.
You come through ghost towns set on pause,
Hoping the risk was worth the cause.

Whoa~
Sound off the false alarm!
Whoa~

But I'll make my own colleague,
From wood and from ivory,
And reap the rewards of proximity.
I'll assemble my equal,
From what I lack and require,
And gather what's left unaccompanied.

It smells like disaster,
It looks like a trap.
So go by the wayside,
And never look back.

If you could spare me forty winks,
While you cry wolf and I count sheep.
What good are ghosts in Kevlar vests,
With backbones like a jellyfish?

Whoa~
Stomp on your land again!
Whoa~

But I'll make my own colleague,
From wood and from ivory,
And reap the rewards of proximity.
I'll assemble my equal,
From what I lack and require,
And gather what's left unaccompanied.

It smells like disaster,
It looks like a trap.
So go by the wayside,
And never look back.

If you're keeping score, then you're bound to win,
A ringside seat at the main event.

Whoa~
Stomp on your land again!
Whoa~

It smells like disaster,
It looks like a trap.
So go by the wayside,
And never look back.

It smells like disaster,
Take all that is left.
So go by the wayside,
I'll never look back.