The space around our carved hearts
|
Is littered with, evidence
|
Evidence of time well spent
|
(Chase the dragon, drag the nail again.)
|
|
We let it be till someone else looks in,
|
And then it¡¯s out the door
|
Its in the street again, blinds open
|
Evidence of time well spent
|
(Boxing with bayonets yeah)
|
|
Afraid someone will see just where we¡¯ve been
|
|
I refuse to let it come to that
|
I want what¡¯s mine is mine is mine is mine is mine
|
I refuse to let it come to that
|
I¡¯m giving up on us
|
|
In this shallow body
|
Is a light been grey for so long
|
C¡¯mon and take a bite yeah
|
Cause I want to spit out my tongue.
|
|
If it is the best that I could get baby I don¡¯t know
|
If that¡¯s the best that I could get then I don¡¯t know
|
I can¡¯t stand to bite my tongue.
|
|
It¡¯s ok, meant to be, it¡¯s all right,
|
I¡¯m spent, still, sort of
|
Yeah, sort of¡¦
|
|
I can¡¯t keep these track-lines off y our soul
|
I¡¯m still breaking limbs in this, this wonder
|
We used our teeth to paint,
|
Down these halls.
|
|
I¡¯m giving up on us.
|
|
-----------------
|
Boxing With Bayonets
|
A Faith Called Chaos |