| Self-serving relapse, risk over reward
|
| Angel in the thornbush, she don’t want a setback
|
| No solace in your life
|
| It’s a razor in your hand
|
| Goddamn, blood-soaked fortitude
|
| You’re fading with substance and inside a grandiose myth
|
| Insist the solace won’t kill you, it’s sobering
|
| And so it seems we’re moving so far away
|
| From thoughts of redemption and choking
|
| On words that just fall apart
|
| So replace the blood in your veins
|
| We’ve run dry of this poison
|
| Fuck
|
| Favor no solution, aim for the same conclusion
|
| Jealous of the dead all for a poetic end
|
| I don’t need a reason, I don’t want to hear it
|
| Just shut your eyes
|
| Lay down with the recourse, bleeding out is my choice
|
| I don’t need a reason I don’t want to hear it
|
| Lay down with the recourse, bleeding out is my choice
|
| Strutting down the razor’s edge, don’t lose your balance
|
| That’s pretty sassy |