No broken hearted people, no crash, no flame, no sermon at a casket nor a
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howl into the grave. Every bone was in position, every hair was in position.
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Every hair was in its place. A light comes. Pulled off a dark country road. New
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roman suicide note. All the way closed. So it goes. No organs to be salvaged,
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no teeth to be compared, we asked for no police involvement because we knew you
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weren't there. We threw a birthday party and at the table in your chair, a
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lightness. Pulled off a dark country road. New roman suicide note. All the way
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closed. So it goes. As long as your name is on my list or your story written in
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the choruses then true death couldn't get you. But when its spoken for the last
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time, the weight is lifted. A third eye. So I make a vow to forget you.
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Indian Giver
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| Every Time I Die |
