Rumble on past childhood homes Days ago, we laid on the greener gas It still smells like smoke and mold Strange.
And the truth is, I could never believe anything other than what was said. "My heart is nothing more than stone and brick, loss and lament" but failing that, we'll carry on.
You've got a way of leading me back to broken homes. You've got a way of breaking me, of breaking you.
These alleys and streets all lead back to the centre of these cold towns. These avenues all lead back to the centre of me.