The Quality Of Hurt

Chester’s head was tight enough to explode
He held back, he could never show
Just how bad everybody made him feel
Just how much he’d never reveal

All his life he worked himself to death
His piece of the pie tasted like shit
Chester felt cheated out of life
Chester felt way too much

There’s no good reason
For me to come along
If nothing here is right
Then why am I always wrong?

Quarter past eleven
In a place we don’t belong
Fifty cents between us
And winter comin’ on
I’ll show you
The quality of hurt
One of these days
I’ll show you

I’ll show you
The quality of hurt
One of these days
I’ll show you

I’ll show you
The quality of hurt
One of these days
I’ll show you

I’ll show you
The quality of hurt
One of these days
I’ll show you