I'm the deadbeat baby you always read about
in the angry songs of broken hearts of the chanting boys.
You may be the dream while I'm the dreamer,
but I'm the scream and you're the screamer.
Take this out on me and don't apologize.

Maybe if we were luckier,
we could have made it to Hell and back before nightfall.
But with wandering eyes past an invisible horizon
the drum lost its beat before it even began at all.

How many lives have been taken when the apple blackened the eye?
How many hearts have been broken when the tongue knocked out the teeth?
And I'm beaten in the corner, bleeding,
pleading for the lack of love that can hurt so great.

Maybe if we were luckier,
we could have made it to Hell and back before nightfall.
But with wandering eyes past an invisible horizon
the drum lost its beat before it even began at all.

If our hearts are the keys to our souls
and our minds are a sacrifice for our lives
are our thoughts are just a waste of time?
Tonight, my heart will bleed the deepest shade of blue
in a brief exchange of me and you
to pray alone without a clue.
It's not learning, it's just what we do.