this citys dead i can smell it and im going down as its product if i dont get my hide out alive skin the soul to pay for the ride cuz the gutters give the story all away you can t always get your way like some damn christ curling off of his cross ive replaced weight of burden with impact of loss with splinters in wrists like broken teeth im praying to your to pray for me cuz the gutters give the story all away you can t always get your way its impulse that kills nothing i learned pulse beats on impulse that old primal urge head in hands blood on sleave im praying to you to pray for me