Four years of wading water, only to get this far
I've worn of empathizing, since the ghosts are behind me in warm bodies
Turning, coughing, laughing, twitching There's not much left to say,
At least not for today

Here Here is your best friend and this is the knife
Let's go feed our dead

Billboards blur together just as our good times do
Dropping seconds, losing hours to dried out flowers
Let's go feed the dead or just talk to their heads

Here Here is your best friend and this is the knife
Let's go feed our dead Pay our respects and act like they're fed