we've watched the lines form in our faces and the smoke fall and break to code from our hands and a message missed was a message read we can never
i would die or kill anyone for you. and if they're there. i dare them down to you. and if they're there. i'll tear them down for you. because i refuse
and you're spitting bullets as the words trip off of my tounge, and your spitting bullets and everyone is chisled with my name. and you'll hang me on
the sheets are soaked in whiskey, I still can't stop this shaking the sheets are soaked in whiskey, my bottle's empty again It's getting harder to stay
and i don't want to say that i wasted my days chasing instead of catching keeping. wasting wishes on copper and stars. i'm wanting you to save me and
somewhere between where we say and we do. we knew. bottle back. quick with burn. to burn this away
more than we'll care to remember drink from the whisky on my lips to kill the indifference we'll tear at every inch that we can get until we're begging for
our histories, they hold no apologies and how we suffer what we can't, what we won't let go you sad little man, you scared little girl you're passing
poet i'm sick of your pretty lies. and it was about the song that sang of the shelves i wished you on. now sing along. and i used to wish my heart as
i found this outside you. the road to your room is half as long as my list of regrets. i count my seconds inside you and struggle to find. instead i
it crept to me like a cancer in my sleep it gnawed the meat right from these bones and so it seems somewhere, somehow, the wonder was stole and the truths
lost somewhere in the bottle and song i bet on static to hold the rest together and i want it back what you've leveled with a glance i want a language
your're all smoke and mirrors and i've caught to you and found you choking on chances of days dead and gone. old man your guns are rusted you've forgotten
and we've slept where before we wouldn't stand, and we cant hide out hands because we've all smeared guilt across our faces, and we've lost beauty and
Son of a bitch, it seems we've been tricked. Our heroes were whores and our martyrs just masochists. Lest you forget, we all but asked for this. Son
oh mother, where'd you learn to get fucked like that? little brother's eyes should be wide but his head's been filled with shit the sins of our fathers
and we stood where faith failed and we watched angels fall chest deep in shit. our halos were busted from way before. we drank deep without warn. <
Boy you held your head a bit too high, and what'd you get? Cut off at the neck, and what'd you get? Cut off at the neck. Boy you held your head a bit
