winter's breaking and this should be better and i left letters by your bed knowing that you wouldn't write back
i stood on your steps. and watched the blue. filter through your blinds. and i traced lines backwards. begging to before bottles spun us to bed. and bitter
[Originally by Black Flag] I was so wasted I was a hippie I was a burnout I was a dropout I was out of my head I was a surfer I had a skateboard
my mother bleeds history, my brothers bleed history they say the eyes, they say it all there's ghosts in here and oh, they will beat you and oh, they'
tried to fall away but gravity wouldn't agree (with black eyes look behind) with forked tongues and lie stained lips we weigh what we have against what
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
burn the billboards, they've broke our embrace and gouged our eyes dead are the days of misspent wishes and spoonfed lies brother don't slip, and sister
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
i felt like a man a cloth till you cut me to ribbons and tied of piece of me around your ring finger now does it remind you of what you've gained, or
if i make it home with what i have left i'll never ever leave again. and i don't know if it was the weight of your words or the way you said my name.
I stared you down so hard I burnt your shadow to the wall and through the haze you served a slow pull from grace at a drunken pace I've nothing to sell
Here lies pestilence feeding on the flesh of our discontent. Here stands arrogance in the face of our best intents. We fell so hard to the fighting side
us, line up a shot for every fight we've fought and lost, and let us pray that it's slow, we tip to the measuring line, to be fit for a box of pine
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
Rather a bastard than a snake, you've left a slick in your wake. Take stock of the grace you've been given, take note of the tales you'll have told,
Oh, I've known lonely. A faker in a room of phonies. Sharp dressed pigs, jet black behind the eyes. They wet down my wings, I can't stay dry. Oh, I've
m getting worse at this. Charmed by honey and lies, truth is I sprung a trap of my design. I rape all I am given, I covet what isn't mine, I'm begging for
Deeded to dead desires, nursing thirsts, we've earned our ire. Who's the hawk? Who's the dove? It don't matter baby, we're both fucked. A little death