Texty: Incommunicado. Losing Daylight. Faces To The Floor.

Wake me after daytime 'cause this is going too slow.
I'd like to take what is mine, results I don't want to know.
You think they really wonder what you want?
You'd better sit down.
They can't imagine what the people want.
Get up and go.
Another voice of a resident too undecided for a compliment.
One hot November night, we thought we felt alright.
What could really go wrong?
Then they came along, singing the white bread song.
The end is out of sight.
One more recall