| In a chalk dotted line | |
| Draw a kid, left behind | |
| Severed limbs in harmony | |
| Strumming from a few good deeds | |
| Carry it to survive | |
| To a bed half alive | |
| Held before a dozen times | |
| Deep inside a funeral for a friend | |
| Runs in portions like film clips | |
| Run, run Rundown the list | |
| The memoirist | |
| Like kindling | |
| Burn, burn, burn, burn down | |
| I will stay inside | |
| The saved | |
| It's a good mourning | |
| They will ignite you | |
| The doomed | |
| I will write for you | |
| Of a boy, damaged goods | |
| Of a bench, understood | |
| For a spell, the soul resides | |
| In a yellow chalk outline | |
| Carry on the camel's back | |
| Have another heart attack | |
| To the cure | |
| I would drive | |
| Played that scene a hundred times to date | |
| Today's ambition, to relate | |
| In a sustaining saccharine state | |
| Impart the burden and get well | |
| It's what everyone's trying to sell | |
| Anything you want to be | |
| Weigh the screenplay and revise | |
| Warp, warp, warp with the contortionist | |
| So hopelessly ill-fated everyday | |
| He will stay inside | |
| The doomed | |
| It's a good mourning to loom | |
| They will inspire him | |
| The saved | |
| Innocently filling graves |
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