Preconceived notions of our own deaths in the pasts of our fathers

Bulletproof factions of our own desires

We're calm when we're behind our guns but in the pure face of danger we're terrified

Because over time we've lost the use of our heads and our hands

This ain't no elevator music so shut up and listen to the screams of the women

Crying over their own lost souls

As they realize that they wasted their lives by sitting on the sidelines

And watching their men do their work for them

Once this violence releases its grip I'll take your hand and pull you away with me

But until then I'm lost

Fighting the current of this river of blood

If I had known that we would get emotional I would have brought a bandage

You won't understand until you see the trenches

The trenches in which you war with your own heart