This paint has been tasting of lead and their chips will fall as they may, but it's not just my finish that is peeling, and it is not alone fleeing these walls.

Well sooner of later this cold it's gonna break and our hands will be warm again, but all I want is not to need you now. And sooner or later this cold it's gonna break and our words will be heard again, but all I want are vows of silence now.

This turpentine chaser's got kick and the rag that it's soaked in is rich. The fumes aide the pace of my cleaning and as soon as I'm done I am gone.

The frightening facts we've been facing our backs for so long now are begging for eyes to bear witness to lies and indifference.

Now we're saying aloud the things we've declared in our silence. The new coats of paint will not reaquaint broken hearts to broken homes

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