We'll knock back a few, (We'll knock back a few)
and talk about life (And talk about life).

His hero is gone and all the smiles have faded.
They come in masks to kill the child that came in.

His hands beat red with this mercy killing.
Good eye, dead man. You hit your mark again and,
these hands beat red with this mercy killing.
Good eye, dead man. You hit your mark again.

And all these words beg for the same d___ thing now.
How to return to some place far behind now.

This heart is pumping blood much harder than you know.
These fists are squeezed too tightly ever to let go.
These are the syncopations of these weary bones, bones.

His hands beat red with this mercy killing.
Good eye, dead man. You hit your mark again and,

This time, this time, this time
I'll walk these avenues to find
a place where I can let these dreams and demons go,
and finally rest my weary bones, bones, bones, bones.

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