Our Swords

Out on the wall, sounds of banging is constant coming from your head And desperate the calls came and ringing from those wanna wring your neck Your neck Open your mouth, sounds of breathing found it spilling from your face Best to be dim to the humble of traffic stomping on your name Count on us all falling on our own swords tonight And chilling walk home down the portions of roads there leading straight to your place And look like the tin can would swallow the kitchen plugging up your space Count on us all stepping on our own toes tonight Count on us all stepping on our own toes Count on us all falling on our own swords tonight