Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Bitter Ruin
Bitter Ruin
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Georgia Train
Georgia Train
Songwriter
Benjamin James Richards
Benjamin James Richards
Songwriter

Lyrics

Well, my feet are burning, and the clock don't seem to be turning
Yeah-oh, hey-ee
It seems to take an hour to put one foot in front of the other
And how is the world spinning when I get the feeling it's falling asleep?
I've been trying to see the light
But every smile, it hurts
I'm a raring bullet in a box of empty shells, go on
Pull the trigger, pull it, bite the pin, then leather for hell, run
At the mouth, I'm foaming, at the bit, I'm chomping
Won't you raise the gates, love? Give it a try
To waylay this aching my fingers are shaking, my knuckles are breaking
Yeah-yeah, yeah, whoa
I'm walking the blade of a dagger and picturing all of the pieces I'd shatter to
If this is the show, then I'm hoping that falling's a no, but it's better than this
I've been trying to see the light
But every smile, it hurts
Well, I'm a raring bullet in a box of empty shells, go on
Pull the trigger, pull it, bite the pin, then leather for hell, run
At the mouth, I'm foaming, at the bit, I'm chomping
Won't you raise the gates, love? Give it a try
Euthanasia is gonna save you
It's the kindest thing to do
And you don't know it yet
But every time you take that breath
Ten thousand other people suffer
'Cause they feel the way I do
I've been trying to see the light
But every smile, it hurts
I'm a raring bullet in a box of empty shells, go on
Pull the trigger, pull it, bite the pin, then leather for hell, run
I'm a raring bullet in a box of empty shells, go on
Pull the trigger, pull it, bite the pin, then leather for hell, run
I'm a raring bullet in a box of empty shells, go on (raring bullet, box of empty)
Pull the trigger, pull it, bite the pin, then leather for hell, run (trigger, bang)
At the mouth, I'm foaming, at the bit, I'm chomping
Won't you raise the gates, love? Give it a try
Well, my feet are burning, yeah (raring bullet, box of empty)
Well, my feet are burning, yeah (raring bullet, box of empty)
Well, my feet are burning, yeah (raring bullet, box of empty)
Written by: Benjamin James Richards, Georgia Train
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