Grinding his fingers off.
Grinding his fingers away.
Turn that hat around so you can shove your face into your pillow and
cry out all your worries.
Cry into it.
But tears dont count if they dont run red.
So many years have been washed down the
drain.
And dreams dont count if they dont come true.
This friendship has come to an end.
Im sick of you talking all your
s**t.
This friendship has come to an end.
Ideals just dont matter if they were never there.
What were you thinking? Where was
your head at? What will you do with all that ink? What will you do with your name? Friends and family will ask - does he even have a
name?
