The charge has blown the last door
With pine over complaint
Well, that bridge never knew what the hell hit it
And now you just look insane
Took another header on your part
What is it we've learned from this?
Picking glass shards from your face
Pretending that you're proud of it
Mopping the floor with your pride
Dropping friends off at your side
Not prepared to say goodbye
Nowhere near finished the ride
And then what was the answer of what you asked before?
You knew all along, man
It's a ship not built to end too well
Staring at a blank slate of nothing
Knowing it's all been said before
Drowning in a flask of confusion
Picking up your guts off the floor
These things bleed through everything
But nothing breathes cellophane
Writer(s): Robertdale Rulon Crow, Armistead Burwell Smith
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