Shoot 007: Plagiarized Punk Lyrics 2.0

Lex's swollen fingers curled in the rush of wind, feeling the bite of autumn there. He could smell burning - fireplaces or something - he tried to push aside the anxiety that had been on him for days as they left the concrete jungle behind. The trees were red-gold blurs flashing past, invoking that sense of homecoming that'd been absent over the last few weeks spent in hotels between skyscrapers. Hannah was huddled in the passenger seat, shivering under two layers of hoodies, enduring his need to keep the window down. Mentally, he was already relaxing by the lake, tossing back a few cold ones before sunset. He was vaguely aware of her movements in his peripheral vision, picking up her phone from the cupholder and checking the display.

"Order somethin' if you wanna-"

"Lex, pull over." Hannah's voice came out sharp, "our house... there's been...."

He knew before she finished her sentence, feeling the bottom drop out, his ears ringing as his heart rate kicked up a notch.

Cut and run.

He resisted the urge to put the pedal to the floor, instead finding a break in traffic and changing lanes smoothly. A few moments later, the car came to a stop on the shoulder of the road. Then, and only then, did he acknowledge what she'd said with a single word: "when?"

"Earlier today? We've got messages from the neighbors and the fire department and the insurance people." She took the phone away from her ear and tried to hand it to him, "here, listen."

He pushed her hand away, refusing to take the phone from her. "I don't..." he trailed off, shaking his head. This wasn't the first time that a house had burned down in his life. He stared out the windshield, a muscle jumping as he clenched his teeth hard enough to make his jaw ache.

"Lex... where..." he flinched at the sound of her voice, "where are we gonna go?"

He watched the cars whipping past, breathing slowly, shallowly as he tried to get a handle on himself. "We're goin' home. I gotta know, Han… gotta see the damage."

"Thinkin' I oughta get another tattoo. COMBUSTIBLE... bold typeface on my forehead, shades of Lars Frederiksen. A warning of sorts, maybe? Contents under pressure, like if you shake me one more fuckin' time, I'ma explode all over the place. Take out half a city block - very least. The fallout'd be extreme an' a part of me thinks maybe that's what this' about. I've been manipulated from the get-go an' that rankles, y'know?

I keep feelin' like I deserve this, like this personal torment highlight reel's been earned somehow. Wasn't. Rationally, I know that, know I ain't committed no sin. Still, there's shame burnin' in my guts all the same. Holding myself accountable for too much shit, I guess. Stuff I can't control an' I guess there's always gonna be that part of me I can't stop. There's something wrong in the wiring, to rip off another song, it's like a scab on my brain. Never really goes away 'cause I'm always pickin' at it, y'know? It's just so satisfying to test its tenacity, try an' loosen it. True story: self-destructive urges got me into this business. Wasn't as much a love of fightin' as I let on. Ain't about money. Not really. Long as I had a roof over my head an' enough cash to make ends meet, I didn't much care. Not chasin' fame. Least I wasn't then. I just wanted somethin' familiar - comfort zone, y'know? An' I know that's fucked up. I do. Been years since I've been able to face that truth in the mirror without flinchin'.

An' I guess that begs the obvious question, don't it? Why'm I still here? If it's not to repeat that cycle, if it's not about the glory chase or the cash grab… the fuck's the point?

I dunno anymore. Right now my existence's been compressed down to nothin' more'n a wound that'll never close. I'm a hero. I'm a zero. I'm the butt of the worst joke in history - never really got a handle on that ambition shit. Who the fuck's this guy? I can see myself in the reflection on the screen; I'm a ghost hauntin' the machine at best. My revolt's still alive. Ana might've beat me but she didn't douse the fire. Eternal flame? Yeah maybe.

I'm good. I'm better. I can fake it. All I gotta do is beat Motors an' I can grab a little taste of that somebody trip. Unexpected. Absolutely welcome after all the bullshit. Feels like a trap. Prob'ly is. Don't care. Got my own agenda when this so-called reality rejects an' spits me out. I disappear. I become less an' less 'til I'm so miniscule the pain can't find me. There's no prospect of some magical catharsis where I'm gonna break on through to the other side. See, those who forget history're destined to repeat. I don't. I learn. I pick myself up when I'm broke an' I go on best I can. Find solace in the little things. The wound's bigger. Blood in the water. Wolves at the door.

Somethin' smells like burnin' - ghosts in my head fuckin' with me, prob'ly. I keep recording over this shit. I keep deletin' the negatives. It's not the night my house burnt to the ground. It's a campfire cracklin', perfect stolen kisses sticky with roasted marshmallows. There's laughter an' there's peace. Just gotta journey past the edge of your fears t'find it. I have. Won't let you take this from me.

Won't cut an' run. I'll go down swingin'. I'll fight for her - for this. Always."