Summer of '92 - Bullet EP

Small Rooms

Hazy nights, acoustic guitars
And all the honesty that you could ever hope for
We live like freight trains waiting to be derailed

Like filthy angels we sang
Our dirty voices ripe with cigarettes
Whiskey and beer

I don't think I've ever seen
So much hope and pain
Raw human yearning
We burned and it kept us warm

We danced like bastards
And we laughed like brothers
Screaming like we didn't care
And we truly didn't

Within the confines
Of those small rooms
We may as well have been gods
Or maybe just a million miles away

For those night
When you would have had to fight
To tear the smiles from our lips
We owe it to Bushmills and small rooms.

Credits
Writer(s): Jason Dwyer
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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