It's the money not the principle it's the taste of wine from a plastic fishbowl it's so funny versus what you know it's the scent of them that always brings you home dead of winter sets inside your soul silent slumbering but since when was peace our goal and you know you could be anything here but so scared afraid of how it might go second guess this looking glass show i'm feeling low sink your teeth in the snow break these heels and let it go loosen your grip and let the blood flow burning time on the anthills with your jackets on fire nevermind this small razor slip up cut a grin and carve out a smile at the center of downtown i'm screaming my fair lungs out can i get an amen my friends i'm slipping now sink your teeth in the snow break these heels and let it go loosen your grip and let the blood flow
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