The low-life has lost its appeal.

And I'm tired of walking these streets to a room with a cupboard bare. I'm not sure what happiness means, but I look in your eyes and I know that it isn't there. There's ice on the sink where we bathe. So how can you call this a home when you know it's a grave ? But you still hold a greedy grace as you tidy the place. But it'll never be clean. And I don't believe in magic anymore. But I think you know, I really think you know. I think you know the truth. No heavenly choir-Not for me and not for you. Because I think that you know. I really think you know. I think you know the truth. We tried and we failed...