I'm homeward bound, but what's the true meaning of home anyways. We're still out of our minds, we're still uptight, manic & falling behind.
Your tongue loves tearing me apart. It's a loaded gun, I knew it from the start. So drop shells and empty out the chamber. Make sure it's in one ear and out the other.
Burns me to think on this infernal malady.
It's poor soil that's built up this turmoil. But I've got mine and you've got your crazy eights to keep the bed warm.
Such recoil from all of this turmoil. But I've got mine and you've got your crazy eights to keep the bed warm.
Sometimes we cling to things that make us bleed. We'd rather take the heat, than face unknown peace. Acceptance of what is, the hindrance of your French kiss, that makes up for the way we speak, it makes up for everything.
As civic as it plays, we're renegade blue jays, an unrelenting phase.
The love that we've made, the turn of your fan blade.
It makes up for everything.