All my friends are drunk, living in the future
All my friends are punks; they never heard The Clash
All my friends are vain, but scared of their reflection
Aiming for the wall; never feel the crash
It’s ours to win
We’ll keep throwing punches til the walls cave in Thieves in the temple; Eve and the apple
Everybody’s twisted, baby, trying to fit
Head full of judges, mouth full of luggage
We whisper, baby; we should be shouting
Whoa-oh-oh, shouting
Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh-whoa-oh
All my friends are straight, playing at being crooked
All my friends are rich, but always strapped for cash
All my friends are sad, but wanna live forever
Back against the wall, face against the glass
It’s ours to win
We’ll keep throwing punches til the walls cave in Thieves in the temple; Eve and the apple
Everybody’s twisted, baby, trying to fit
Head full of luggage and a mouth full of judges
We whisper, baby; we should be shouting
Whoa-oh-oh, shouting
Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh-whoa-oh
Whoa-oh-oh, shouting
Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh-whoa-oh
Everybody’s twisted, baby, trying to fit
Everybody’s twisted, baby, trying to fit
Everybody’s twisted, baby, trying to fit
Everybody’s twisted, baby, trying to fit