Most of us waste it
Burn through it early
No concept of pacing
Pulp on the rim of the glass
Blood on the back of her skirt
I gave my statement, said “I don't recall”
Washed my hands then followed her home
At my best I'm barely hanging on
At my best I'm barely holding up the wall
I belong on the run
But I don't think I should go anywhere
I don't think I should play that card
After all it's her fault
We almost got caught
A bar up in Dallas where fourteen people were shot
A dragon on the wall
At my worst I'm full of sentiment
At my worst I carry most of it around
In my head and my heart
So I focus on my work, not my loss
I concentrate on moving on
And I know you'll appear
And when you appear
I'll be gone and she'll be in the clear
The work will all be done
Glass in the tread of a tire
Bone peeking out through the skin
Swift transition, it's nothing at all
Follow the money next time
Most of us fake it
Work through it later
No concept of struggle
No concept of value
