In a traffic jam with sweaty hands
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The kids we hype up just to drop
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These few pretty faces in ugly places
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The small towns where we would never stop
|
Shitty scenes and tired schemes
|
All this art it makes me sick
|
And I always wrote better than I spoke
|
You couldn't even read my lips
|
Home is where the heart is
|
Mine is scattered by miles and time
|
On this slow suicide with a pack of smokes and cheap bottle of wine
|
Passing trends and passing friends
|
Magnets floating in a metal sea
|
In a world of ghosts all overdosed
|
Placebo pills at the pharmacy
|
Arguments and your two sense
|
All this talk it makes me sick
|
And I always wrote better than I spoke
|
You couldn't even read my lips
|
In this empty room
|
I will live with my mistakes
|
Hold this straw untill it's gold
|
It will or I will break
|
|
-----------------
|
Red Slippers, Red Wheels
|
| The Ghost |
