Kw

[Verse 1]
In streets still soft with sleep, whisper words that are worth the dirt beneath
Verbal arrows that you brought shot down the moon in a parking lot
I hit you in the dark, my fist imprinted with your teeth marks
And your skin struck cobblestone, realigned like a broken bone

[Chorus]
If you play it right, keep me on the line
Hold your knives so tight, til your knuckles turn white
Any glove that fits was stitched by hypocrites
No one else to blame, there’s no reward for a wicked fame

[Verse 2]
Your eyes still follow me, like cigarette burns in a sweatshirt sleeve
Like a space you couldn’t fill, you can try to drown me, but I’m hard to kill
You can struggle for my stride, cheer me on from the side with your pretender pride
I’ll forgive but won’t forget all the pain of your swaying threats

[Chorus]
If you play it right, keep me on the line
Hold your knives so tight, til your knuckles turn white
Any glove that fits was stitched by hypocrites
No one else to blame, there’s no reward for a wicked fame

[Verse 3]
Just when we hit the dust, hands smelling like coins and decaying rust
Your heels were hazard-high, just the kind of crazy that would
Catch my eye
Your instructions still prevail, just a few can throws round Crooked Tail
Your sling and slang in speech feels just like a lucid dream

[Chorus]
If you play it right, keep me on the line
Hold your knives so tight, til your knuckles turn white
Every glove that fits was stitched by hypocrites
No one else to blame, there’s no reward for a wicked fame