Hit for hit we are all swimming backwards.
Purge and spit, we all drown in the fire.
You're now painted in tides, sinking fast.
Awaiting your company.
But no one followed you in quivering.
Gambling with my air off shore.
An open hand doesn't always mean something.
My name is jury: the fucking judge.
You're now painted in tides, sinking fast.
Awaiting your company.
So the next in line has died fearing the worst.
What was it worth?
What a shame when all you need to get by is just a little bit of faith and not to open your eyes.
If you're not trembling then you've given up.
You accept the way things are, the hand that everyone was dealt.
We all drown together, or not at all.
