Most of us waste it Burn through it early No concept of pacing Pulp on the rim of the glass Blood on the back of her skirt Gave my statement, said "I don't recall" Washed my hands then followed her home At my best I'm barely hanging on At my best I'm barely holding up the wall I belong on the run But I don't think I should go anywhere I don't think I should play that card After all it's her fault We almost got caught A bar up in Irving where fourteen people were shot A dragon on the wall At my worst I'm full of sentiment At my worst I carry most of it around In my head and my heart So I focus on my work, not my loss I concentrate on moving on And I know you'll appear And when you appear I'll be gone and she'll be in the clear The work will all be done Glass in the tread of a tire Bone peeking out through the skin Swift transition, it's nothing at all Follow the money next time Most of us fake it Work through it later No concept of struggle No concept of value