My head's all things I can't say
My hands are all broken legs
Rips in this coat are a city map
A scarecrow starts to lose his breath
Decor part pyre and Sylvia Plath
And a toss of spit on soldier's ash
And life just walked right through me
Life just walked right through me
I fought too much without living a past
Hang any hero or heroine
And beat these dreams out of me
With a toss of spit on soldier's ash
I'm so, so sick of all this solitude
Burn these books and beat these dreams outta me
I'm always so, so alone in tomes and tracks of liberty
Half wits are half blind to see