The armor plated doors, this burning inside us,
the guards at full alert, their radio silence. We're crawling through the air ducts; we're lying on our backs. Like angels we're descending down the elevator shafts.
The walls are 3 ft thick. I’ve got these x-ray eyes
where there's a lock to pick, we'll find our way inside.
I know it's not that much; I know it's not alright.
I don't believe in luck when the walls are airtight.
With silence the only soundtrack, light footfalls a metronome. The key to avoiding contact is doing the job alone. But no string is ever flawless and no man the perfect mark. So hold your breath and walk soft, pray it doesn't fall apart.
