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von Kill It Kid

I remember the clashing of tongues
Second hand smoke like rust in my lungs
When the darkness preys at your door
Your home can be a home no more
I′ve pleaded for sick men and liars
Treat them like sweethearts, my hands in the fire
But when our clothes were cast to our floor
My home could be a home no more


Lord, what's to be given?
Make damn sure it′s given to me
Lord, what's to be given?
Make damn sure it's given to me
Lord, what′s to be given?
Make damn sure it′s given
Damn sure it's given
Damn sure it′s given to me

Don't you take him away from me
I still hear the birds through the back door
Still see the rain-wet toys on the lawn

As the darkness preys at your door
Your home can be a home no more
Your home can be a home no more

No more, no more