This city's dead i can smell it
and I'm going down as its product
if i don't get my hide out alive
skin the soul to pay for the ride
cuz the gutters give the story all away
you cant always get your way
like some [bad word] Christ curling off of his cross
I've replaced weight of burden with impact of loss
with splinters in wrists like broken teeth
I'm praying to your to pray for me
cuz the gutters give the story all away
you cant always get your way
its impulse that kills
nothing i learned
pulse beats on impulse
that old primal urge
head in hands
blood on sleave
im praying to you to pray for me