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.