Knock Knock Hold On I'm Cleaning My Gun

the dreams keep coming back, the pain greets the morning all because obsession and continuation kill me, smiling to cover the night you cried on the phone, trying to help I'll never seven help myself, looking at photos forever, remembering nights I shoulnd't have grinned, should have sat on the steps and laid an empty head. stealing the images, throwing them under the bed, grab them refusing to loose you this way, atleast I am slightly complacent