| Father was drunk on the porch
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| Quietly cleaning his guns while we sat
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| And watched the sun set from the roof
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| Drinking stolen beer
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| The day I turned twelve
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| And Momma was losing her mind
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| So we built a home in the woods
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| And I carved our names in the sign
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| With a knife we found beneath the house
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| The day you turned twelve
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| And I am always reminded of lies
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| That we told, but never meant
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| And at night when I still hear you grin
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| Like an echo sounding from my sins
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| Come on, let me in
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| I remember the cast on your arm
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| From when we were convinced we could fly
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| And how we covered it up in fake names
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| To make it seem like you were famous
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| When you came back to school
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| And sure, we never had much
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| But we did just as we pleased
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| We had no concern for anything
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| Beyond the day we were living in
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| We had no need to dream
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| And I am always reminded of lies
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| That we told, but never meant
|
| And at night I could still hear you grin
|
| Like an echo sounding from my sins
|
| Come on, let me in |