| My bastard brother’s hopeless vow
|
| Of leaving to another town
|
| Has once again soaked deep into
|
| The cold and rotting ground
|
| He never shared his lovesick bed
|
| Or listened to a word they said
|
| He hoards the beer and wine and bread
|
| Christ, I wish he was fucking dead
|
| Bury yourself in blame
|
| Drown yourself in flame
|
| Burn the bottle that beckons you
|
| To betroth yourself to shame
|
| Give yourself a break
|
| Break the ones you hate
|
| Hate those that have fed off of you
|
| And your pathetic plate
|
| I’ve left it up to the gods above
|
| Don’t believe in, ain’t seen or heard from
|
| And nearly sick to death of this
|
| Not ignorance nor in bliss
|
| With a family of parasites
|
| And feckless friends with shameless eyes
|
| The endless miles caught up with me
|
| The face of my own kind
|
| Bury yourself in blame
|
| Drown yourself in flame
|
| Burn the bottle that beckons you
|
| To betroth yourself to shame
|
| Jump that fucking train
|
| Wed the goddamn stain
|
| Live your life in a fucking cell
|
| Be the martyr with no brain
|
| Step inside this room
|
| Mind the open wounds
|
| Cross yourself and carry on
|
| That claptrap may do you good |