|
We'd rather all spill our guts
they be lying dead on the floor
Broken barrels still hit their target
if they are as close as we were
Well Im sorry this love song has a sarcastic tone
But its the only thing to fit this key
So as we clip each others wings
We will fall into a theater
Where we look for flaws in family films
Softly smile as we pull rustic weapons
Nestalgia in the archaic recoil
Now dry your tears
It was an honorable discharge
So like fathers before
And the sons right after
We will march in step
And drown in unheard laughter
Last edited by ITRIEDVOODOOONCE; 11-20-2005 at 11:15 AM.
|