Text: Zebrahead. Phoenix. Brixton.

:
Started off as I fall in a ball of flame burning out on your sentiment
It's all in vain
Shot your 44. caliber
Words with aim
You mighta killed the heart but you left the brain
Devastated and I hate it see your eyes are insane
Gray and dissipate buiolding just like rust on a chain drained
Dislocated echo in the things you say
You might have killed the heart but you left the brain
Your words are making me sick
No more lies
Enough with your rhetoric, whoa-oh
What do you got to hide?
Whoa-oh
You're dead inside
What a wonderful lie
Don't you feel alive?
Whoa-oh
What do ya got to hide?
Whoa-oh
You're dead inside
What a wonderful lie
Don't you feel alive?
Cut away
Cut it all away now
Cut me off
At the pass, as OI hydroplane
Crashing down from your promises, all were fake
Shot your 44. caliber
Words with aim
You mighta killed the heart
But you left the brain
Formulated and I'm fated to withstand the pain
Wave of generated conscience from the edge of a blade
Feigned and fabricated echo in the things you say
You might have killed the heart
But you left the brain
Switch all the lights off
Tell me what you want from me
Take my time and my energy
Turning you heart off
Come about so easily
It's not enough
But it's plenty
Bleed in the black out
You said you'd be there for me
Now you're gone and we're history
Screaming you lungs out
Say you want what's best for me
Give it up
You abandoned me