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.