Banlieue
Paul Smith, Duncan Lloyd
Motorcycles do figure eights, on the forecourt by the multiplex
Phone sex via application, the dull swagger of intimidation
The rush of confusion
Replaced by comprehension
Pixellated punishment
Desire's the only crime
The calmness of the pack
Whose power is in decline
These violent dreams are nothing new
Don't think that she won't leave you
Here come
The animals
Two by Two
Makes my body feel wet through
High-pitched MCs
Digital thrill
The drunks vibrate
The beat seeps through
Wound-down car windows
On the corner of the Banlieue
Here come
The animals
Two by Two
Makes my body feel wet through
We've been told that we can take it
Everything we ever wanted
