And it's sore, it's so
Lost in your glorious violent streak
A seemingly peachy thing
Coming out from I don't where
So unwise, as you are everytime
A dirty joke you played on yourself, well played
When a magnetic glow becomes all you know
You'll find yourself later on covered in a guilt that lingers on
Calling a hotline as if there's still time
They say it's closed, but you stick around
One of the low lives, one of the bad guys
Would die in your arms too, as long as they could have you
I can't be that guy; I rely on my own
You can't be that guy; it's better if do this alone
As the months lull by
I can't help but think
The same motel sign
Is giving me everything