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So show me your hands |
|
are they still stained red with our blood |
|
that you chose to shed |
|
It's your business now |
|
Like an open casket we're exposed |
|
and on display for all to see |
|
but we'll bury ourselves in the confines of our own |
|
even though they orbit our entire world |
|
keeping tabs and clouding our atmosphere |
|
we'll somehow find room to breathe in this air |
|
So show me your hands |
|
are they still stained red with our blood |
|
that you chose to shed |
|
They'll speculate and debate |
|
who committed the crime |
|
but what's to say we are not all guilty as hell |
|
digging this hole deeper |
|
but will we make our own way back to the surface |
|
or fall short in trying |
|
the runway's clear |
|
but no one has thought to guide us into safety |
|
Are we done with caring anymore? |
|
Are we done with caring |
|
are we done now? |
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So now we are done here |
|
yeah |
