Dead Hands

We'll stretch the skin out till it hurts
A smile from ear to ear
Your side of the story, the worst
Attempt at preventing tears
Here I am, the archetype of words
Give me a moment
And I'll make it worse

The flesh it opens in cold blood
It's put to paper with
A constant upper hand I could
Claim to be at peace with it
Or I could set fire to your dying wit
Welcome to heartbreak
You're gonna drown in it
And I'll be on the ocean floor

Black hearts, dead hands
The ink has finally run dry from this lonely pen

The cardiac arrest is worse
When honest spines are still
The blade it ruptures, no remorse
But a hell of a way to feel
Your insides flatten out and flee the course
And a tangled conscience creates a new Cold War
I won't be your open door

Black hearts, dead hands
The ink has finally run dry from this tragic pen
Black hearts, dead hands
We'll sink down to the bottom while you're busy sifting sands

Your cold dead hands
Those cold dead hands
I'd like to thank the sands of time
For burying us both just right