All of this was all your fault

Now we've got no way out

We know where all the crosses lie

And we know which ones you try to hide

With your head hung and your gun slung around your feet

You're tripping over rounds, yeah

You're burying the sounds that you knew we'd make

Two, three till retreat chimes in and victory's in your head

You swear you thread shit into gold, barrel to head, you know, we're really quite impressed

Bravo. Hell, what a fucking show

All of this was all your fault

Now we've got no way out

We know where all the crosses lie

And we know which ones you try to hide

When I was starry­eyed, I used to love driving around in your car at night