This paint has been tasting of lead & their chips will fall as they may, but it's not just my finish that is peeling, & it is not alone fleeing these walls.
Well sooner of later this cold it's gonna break & our hands will be warm again, but all I want is not to need you now. And sooner or later this cold it's gonna break & our words will be heard again, but all I want are vows of silence now.
This turpentine chaser's got kick & the rag that it's soaked in is rich. The fumes aide the pace of my cleaning & as soon as I'm done I am gone.
The frightening facts we've been facing our backs for so long now are begging for eyes to bear witness to lies & indifference.
Now we're saying aloud the things we've declared in our silence. The new coats of paint will not reaquaint broken hearts to broken homes.
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