Bloodstains on my collar powders on my dollars Filthy haze and something strange stuck beneath my skin I miss the past and your sweet laugh ringing from the holler Oh but what a waste to dream and chase for we are cannon fodder Oh how we all pretend Although we know not a soul will be there in the end Its funny how a bottle feels closer than a friend Never holds back and always gives in Who you are now is a warm and distant feeling Keeps my ears ringing like a gunshot on the porch In our prime we both may find something to believe in But its curing time and my last dimes gonna Put me through the ceiling Oh how we all pretend Although we know not a soul will be there in the end Its funny how a bottle feels closer than a friend Never holds back and always gives in
although, ringing, curing, fodder, closer