Blood

Grinding gears in parked cars
A peeled out burnout on a strip mall tip
A short rip to impress the boys

Because fucking up was the only choice
Yeah fucking up was the only choice

And hold out your hand
The wrist spits blood

A soul at arm's length
Twisting in the wind
We can't judge it from where we stand

And hold out your hand
The wrist spits blood

There's no freedom in this land
And you can do your part
To feel you're not at fault
So sit up straight
And take it on the chin
There's no freedom in this land

And hold out your hand
The wrist spits blood



Credits
Writer(s): Luke Chiaruttini
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

Link