Born Ruffians Follow

Four thousand four hundred days and we're still swimming deeper.Two nameless decades, now our memories going to the inferno.We get so lost sometimes filling holes that don't need fixing.The tide is rushing under foot, we're walking heavy

Poor hunter named Stan and his youngest daughter Rita, ran all the way into Chicago, got lost in the winter.They'd get so cold sometimes, crossing train tracks, lifting rations.And light under a sea and bridge he'd sit and tell her

How some people don't change, I think they're strange, so do you.Out of their range, I feel the rage coming soon

Dancing, dancing on the edge of our graves.Dancing on the edge of our.(x2)

We're dancing on the edge of our graves

Four thousand four hundred days and we're still swimming deeper.Two nameless decades, now our memories going to the inferno.We get so lost sometimes filling holes that don't need fixing.And hiding footprints in the snow, we're walking heavy

Now some people are strange, I hope they change, so do you.Out of their range, I feel the ass coming took us soon

Dancing, dancing on the edge of our graves.Dancing on the edge of our.(x2)

We're dancing on the edge of our graves

Dancing, dancing on the edge of our graves.Dancing on the edge of our.(x2)