It's Not My Fault This Time.
Its quite pitiful still.
You parade around with contraband.
Those half opened sores you call
smiles we're purchased for all the
wrong reasons. But you still
stare as if I have anymore to give.
No my friends, I'm broke and tired.
My pockets are empty, so it makes me less desired.
Now my company has changed.
From marionettes to chains.
Who whistle my defect.
It feels like I'm to blame.
You parade around with contraband.
Those half opened sores you call
smiles we're purchased for all the
wrong reasons. But you still
stare as if I have anymore to give.
No my friends, I'm broke and tired.
My pockets are empty, so it makes me less desired.
Now my company has changed.
From marionettes to chains.
Who whistle my defect.
It feels like I'm to blame.