Friends Til The Weekend
This is the putrid smell of your own living hell,
where heavy rain drowns out the sirens and every searchlight in the city couldn't find me a place that I could call my own in this wretched place we stew in our mistakes,
with boiling blood we say everything is great, what do you say when every word's a lie? What will you do since you're just growing up to die? Old timer, coal miner,
breathe in my dust I live in lust with the dark days where the skies are cold and gray and life seems so constant and plain you can take my head at the gallows or you could bring this war to my front door but you never were a friend in the first place
