Our fingers are missing
They litter the ground
Grass will never grow
Near this town again
The frames on the walls
Are crooked and empty
These shoulders bend low
Towards the dirt
I made a deal
To get us out of this place
But I am falling apart
With each step I take
And as the pieces fall
I count them all
Writer(s): Adam Turla, Matthew Armstrong, Sarah Balliet, Alexander Schrodt
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