And it's all inside your head.
  Pictures painted perfect, black and red.
  It's a theme worth fighting for.
  And all the lines now have been drawn.
  Arousing questions.
  No one's getting hurt.
  You're a patriot of words.
  And it's cloudy all day and you don't have much to say.
  A weakened attempt.
  Taking over.
  Getting answers.
  Take a step.
  Irradicate.
  A lonesome day of work and sweat and tears
  and grief and constant running hate.
    And if I had a dime for every time you cried.
  Then I would buy you a holiday in Rome.
  And if I had a chance to buy a piece of time.
  I'd wake up to a life of crime.
    A broken jaw.
  A penny lost.
  The sounds of shattered bits of glass and stepped on moss.
  And I know you well.
  A sour girl, who gave up hopes and dreams of a different world.
  And I hope you've bought some time
  because every minute lost is a minute past your prime; time TV gets you through.
  A lonesome day of work and sweat and tears
  and grief and thoughts of twenty-two.
    A pseudo-thought.
  I'm getting lost.
  The taste of blood.
  American fights hurt so much.
  And I can't believe, you're getting up.
  The cost of living everywhere it just went up.
    And if I had a dime for every time you cried.
  Then I would buy you a holiday in Rome.
  And if I had a chance to buy a piece of time.
  I'd wake up to a life of crime.