It's kinda hard to call you my friend,
When you stab me in the back again.
I feel. Ripped off. And cheated. Broken down. Defeated.
It's getting easier every day.
To understand why I walked away. I know.
The distance. Is healing. Intentions. Revealing.
So put your money where your mouth is.
You're writing checks all over this town.
And the cloud of personal debt is approaching.
We're all waiting for the breakdown,
So put your money where your mouth is.
No one's surprised your luck is running out.
And your apologies, too little too late, decomposing.
We're all waiting for the breakdown!
So where do we go from here.
The miles between us drive away the years. I won't.
Ask for. Directions. No reunion. Intersections.
If our paths cross and we meet again.
Let's chalk it up to coincidence. And just.
Continue. On our own way. And forget. The old days.
So put your money where your mouth is.
You're writing checks all over this town.
And the cloud of personal debt is approaching.
We're all waiting for the breakdown,
So put your money where your mouth is.
No one's surprised your luck is running out.
And your apologies, too little too late, decomposing.
We're all waiting for the breakdown!
We're all waiting for the breakdown...