Keepsake

American Fights

Keepsake


And it's all inside your head. 
Pictures painted perfect, black and red. 
It's a theme worth fighting for. 
And all the lines now have been drawn. 
Arousing questions. 
No one's getting hurt. 
You're a patriot of words. 
And it's cloudy all day and you don't have much to say. 
A weakened attempt. 
Taking over. 
Getting answers. 
Take a step. 
Irradicate. 
A lonesome day of work and sweat and tears
and grief and constant running hate. 

And if I had a dime for every time you cried. 
Then I would buy you a holiday in Rome. 
And if I had a chance to buy a piece of time. 
I'd wake up to a life of crime. 

A broken jaw. 
A penny lost. 
The sounds of shattered bits of glass and stepped on moss. 
And I know you well. 
A sour girl, who gave up hopes and dreams of a different world. 
And I hope you've bought some time
because every minute lost is a minute past your prime; time TV gets you through. 
A lonesome day of work and sweat and tears
and grief and thoughts of twenty-two. 

A pseudo-thought. 
I'm getting lost. 
The taste of blood. 
American fights hurt so much. 
And I can't believe, you're getting up. 
The cost of living everywhere it just went up. 

And if I had a dime for every time you cried. 
Then I would buy you a holiday in Rome. 
And if I had a chance to buy a piece of time. 
I'd wake up to a life of crime.