| Fading photographs, always
|
| Missing front-teeth, smiling
|
| When did our colors start to change?
|
| When did we learn to cut with words?
|
| Old friendly fire
|
| I thought you were the foe
|
| But words, just like bullets
|
| You can’t take those back
|
| Time is tracing lines
|
| On faces that resemble mine
|
| It’s strangers now who know us better
|
| The things we learn only from away
|
| Old friendly fire
|
| You thought I was the foe
|
| But words, just like bullets
|
| We can’t take those back
|
| And sure, we can just go unstuck
|
| In our own separate ways
|
| But the pags of the calendar
|
| Turn faster by th day
|
| And I’m tired of being afraid of you
|
| For things I can’t recall
|
| You’re in the dark, let’s break or fade
|
| We never chose once and for all
|
| Old friendly fire
|
| We thought we were the foe
|
| But words, just like bullets
|
| We can’t take those back
|
| Friendly, friendly fire
|
| Friendly, friendly fires
|
| Friendly, friendly fire
|
| Friendly, friendly
|
| Friendly fire |