Besedila: Brutal Youth. Spill Your Guts. Emotional Terrorism.

Each heavy sigh rings out like gunshots
As the tension escalates
Who needs a fucking balaclava
When tears will streak and hide your face
The daggers in your eyes are tipped with the venom
Spilling from the corners of your mouth
Held hostage by the promises of violence
You keep making to yourself
But I will not negotiate...
These demands are far too taxing and I will make no concessions
When I'm always met with indignation coupled with advances and aggression
Broken hearts and wounded egos can't be fixed with first aid kits
Tired of always mending fences time for once we burned a bridge
The sweetest kiss is followed shortly with aftertastes of sour grapes
Hopeless romance now turned helpless for casualties of casual sex
Delivered here for scar showcases show me yours I'll show you mine
Delivers us from past misgivings
What follows? We step back in line.
Jaded.
Hurt.
Never naked, fearing our scars will be seen.