Not that I'm blaming you,
but i really can't take the fall for this,
there's four of us in this room,
trading false smiles for false promises,

White lies,
black eyes,
white guilt,
black fucking years,

Well I'm no sinner,
and I'm no saint,
I'm no fucking martyr,
that's the one thing that I hate,

Its fucking hard to dream,
when your hopes are on the floor,
and I'd like to see you smile,
through blackened eyes,
and broken fucking jaws,

this house we built,
is about to fall,
in this house of fucking cards,
the writings on the wall.

Jonestown

Bourbon Legend

BlackYears