They gonna clean up your looks
Im writing this letter and wishing you well
And if the sun comes up, will it tear the skin right off our bones?
don't ever think I'll make you try to stay and maybe when you get back
What's the worst that I could say things are better if I stay
No one ever had much nice to say i really didn't like you anyway
Son when you grow up will you be the saviour of the broken the beaten and the damned?
Now but in comes Romeo moaning you belong to me I believe
Another knife in my hands a stain that never comes off the sheets
We are all gonna party when the funeral ends
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