Our ammo’s rotting in the depot
Still ready to blow in some youthful war
While we play pickup with our sinews
Don’t want no bodies keeping the score
We’ve got strange pains
They keep us fighting
My scalped dreams went without a burial
I keep’em reeking in my pockets
Their weight reminds me I’m a deadbeat
Whenever I reach for my wallet
I’ve got strange pains
And I can’t afford’em
Call us obsessed, call us masochists
We don’t need love, we’ll do it for less
It always hurts and no one’s impressed
But pain always bows to stubbornness