History will hold our names on the tip of its tongue
Or clench its teeth at the mere mention of us
And the scars filled with ink on his arms and legs
Will tell of words we screamed to mid-summer days
Years ago, I never thought this was mine for the taking
Now I know, I will never grow weary
Of hearing a back beat pounding out my ears
Or clench its teeth at the mere mention of us
And the scars filled with ink on his arms and legs
Will tell of words we screamed to mid-summer days
Years ago, I never thought this was mine for the taking
Now I know, I will never grow weary
Of hearing a back beat pounding out my ears
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