I can see you've got your pictures on these walls,
They've been there for a year.
They say that you went crazy with your guns,
Then you disappeared.
You disappeared.
Lie down on this cold floor,
And listen to my worthless words.
I will be heard.
It's easy to complain when your the one,
With a knife against your back,
And I'm holding back.
And if you wish to ever see,
All that you hoped for it's a wasted plea.
It's killing me now.
We can make this happen,
Doesn't matter if we try.
We exist and make a mess of everything,
Until we die.
We can make this happen,
Doesn't matter if we try.
This existence is a measure of moments,
UNTIL WE DIE.
The things you never cared for inside
A single digit bastard...who's dying.
We're dying.
We're dying.
Lay down on this cold floor,
And listen to my worthless words...
