Welcome to the other side of the tracks.
Where we starve for a high and find love in all the wrong places.
This is the place of real nightmares, and everything is a mistake.
Welcome to the other side of the tracks.
Here is a man, a man that stands before me.
I can smell Hell on his breath.
And his eyes, his eyes, his eyes.. cut right through me.
His smile reads of death.
Everything he says, he says with such intentions of replacing any recognition of anything you know.
And nobody wins. Nobody wins.
The end is near, I can feel it on my neck.
Caused by the belief in second hand grace.
He'll be there won't he?
He'll be there.. to call this conflict.. call it lust.. call it something.. call it dust..
He'll be there won't he?
I am free to taste this fruit with a sword and an armored suit
