Hang your head low,
in the glow of the vending machine.
I'm not dying,
you say that we'll just screw it up,
in these trying times.
We're not trying,
so cut the headlights, summer's a knife.
I'm always waiting for you,
just to cut to the bone.
Devils roll the dice,
angels roll their eyes,
and if I bleed,
you'll be the last to know.
