Summer's Cold

Summer's cold

I've been told

The corrosive nature of a broken soul

Grabs a hold, predetermined before you were

Four years old

Now you know

How to deal with all the headaches

And that winter's just no place to wake up

Shotgun shells

On the shelf in my dad's closet

I had never held a gun

But always wanted one

Box of pills

In the kitchen on the counter

With the days marked on the top

Bring the glass in, fill the palm

Drink til the last drop

Yeah that’s good

Summer's cold

I've been told

The corrosive nature of a broken soul

Grabs a hold, predetermined before you were

Four years old

Now you know

How to deal with all the headaches

Used to feel too hard to handle

You know that winter's just a place

So where's the problem?

So where's the problem?

So where's the problem?

So where's the problem?