Push me around like a merry go-round, rip out my heart paste it to my sleeve.
In sickness and health, let death do its part (its only a myth old people believe) and that's why you always fight in every room, this battlefield looks like our living room.
Everything else is talking to itself saying wake me up when the crowd goes home.
Finish me off with a tetanus shot, my lip's split while this kid talks shit about the funny little world that we live in,
and I think about all the things I've been given and I write for communities with kid's asleep to hopes and dreams soaked in threads and seems tonight.
Its okay to cry if your lonely, and its okay to die if there's an accident, but why do you always tell me when your lonely,
just to hear my little heart break every time