I speak in metaphor, it's the only thing that makes sense to me.
A description of the time that I'll never feel again.
And hopeless romantics, they won't save me from pissing on the friendships that have made me.
In memory the brightest lights are fading, I'm on my knees waiting for the changes.
Words are weapons, in this modern warfare, on a piece of paper or on a billboard.
It breaks the back, it rapes the truth for another fucking lie.
These words are weapons in these crucial times.
I'm just trying to figure out if this will kill me or make me stronger (every day).
Words are weapons. They are our shields. Words are weapons, fist by fist.