And it's all inside your head.    Pictures painted perfect, black and red.    It's a theme worth fighting for.    And all the lines now have been drawn.    Arousing questions.    No one's getting hurt.    You're a patriot of words.    And it's cloudy all day and you don't have much to say.    A weakened attempt.    Taking over.    Getting answers.    Take a step.    Irradicate.    A lonesome day of work and sweat and tears   and grief and constant running hate.       And if I had a dime for every time you cried.    Then I would buy you a holiday in Rome.    And if I had a chance to buy a piece of time.    I'd wake up to a life of crime.       A broken jaw.    A penny lost.    The sounds of shattered bits of glass and stepped on moss.    And I know you well.    A sour girl, who gave up hopes and dreams of a different world.    And I hope you've bought some time   because every minute lost is a minute past your prime; time TV gets you through.    A lonesome day of work and sweat and tears   and grief and thoughts of twenty-two.       A pseudo-thought.    I'm getting lost.    The taste of blood.    American fights hurt so much.    And I can't believe, you're getting up.    The cost of living everywhere it just went up.       And if I had a dime for every time you cried.    Then I would buy you a holiday in Rome.    And if I had a chance to buy a piece of time.    I'd wake up to a life of crime.