I'm the insides of the trees. You broke your leg and lost your shoes. They melted both of us right down. And we never even got to have a clue. I'm rubber. You're glue. I'll bounce you my ideas. See if they stick to you. (I'm rubber.) (You're glue.) Poured us into brand-new shapes. Just tools for violent apes. You hold the pieces when they crack. They come to me, so I can send them back. I'm rubber. You're glue. Neither of us knows quite what to do. (I'm rubber.) (You're glue.) They stretch me over wheels and guns. They smear you in the cracks that run through every plan they try to make. I rebound, but you just take. I’m rubber. You’re glue. They use us both and call it somethin 'new. (I'm rubber.) (You're glue.) I used to think the bounce was mine. You used to think you held the line. Everything they send to us is bent. We do the job. We don’t consent. I’m rubber. You’re glue. Both of us, just waiting on a better use. (I'm rubber.) (You're glue.) Both of us, just waiting on a better use.
