holding on to damaged truth
cursed the one small thing
given just one match to burn I'm scared to death to drop mine
troubles that can kill the mind rivers and ways to escape streets to cross and hills to climb
I just want to get from point a to point b watch the sad face of the clock change
what else can a poor man do its hard to find he is instrumental
afraid of being someone else don't let me vanish from your sight I taught my self to fight
forgetting with reckless abandon ballad of the last man standing
roughly cut I'm vague to you I hold my cards close to my chest I don't want to spend my life
dead end dreams all written down empty bottles keep their secrets living dead wander the city
we don't have the strength to fight besides we don't know what to say
smoke machine ballet and murder I find myself behind the eight ball
the birds all know that somethings wrong temperatures that burn the blood
invisible the evening comes
roads that recognize my voice actions that i can't defend chopping down this crooked tree I've sang for days on end