A Wolf Ticket
This is it. The nights that stand on two the morning breakfast blues, we must not hold back what keeps us in tact. Our secret tired lonely eyes, still we keep out necks high. And while your cons and everlongs all sound the best. A plague builds from the space between your shirt and your chest. So save us the phrase "a sight for bored lives" we're just a city of hamlets, minus surprise. So from the end to the start, wolf tickets aside, welcome home a premature suicide.
Submitted by VladTheImpaler666 — Apr 18, 2026
I am sick of noise, I am sick of toys, I want more. Just like "I want the moon" there's got to be more than just comfort. Feels like we're knocking on all the wrong doors. Give me the gold. I am selling this city that once sold me hope and burning the cash, cuz I've got no room for failure, and rainy days are found in the back of my throat. I am losing again and nothing has ever felt better, give up the chance and call us the poorman's sunsetters But something or someone must be keeping me breathing. This time I am gonna stay in bed with all my mistakes and start to turn off my books and turn on my chest. I'll conquer this world with just my hands full of sheets and these eyes thick with sleep. So please please please please please let me kill what I got
Submitted by johnmansley — Feb 26, 2026
And how bad luck is my favorite game and how I am better off with stolen smiles, it's ok, you're to blame and I am on fire next to you. Everytime you open your mouth, my throat gets dry and everyone goes numb. I am just waiting to find a face that I can call home, a place to replace birthdays with new days, where no one gets born and these are my friends some pockets full of notes with secrets that could make a bad man worse.
Submitted by Corpse Grinder — Apr 18, 2026
And how bad luck is my favorite game and how I am better off with stolen smiles, it's ok, you're to blame and I am on fire next to you. Everytime you open your mouth, my throat gets dry and everyone goes numb. I am just waiting to find a face that I can call home, a place to replace birthdays with new days, where no one gets born and these are my friends some pockets full of notes with secrets that could make a bad man worse.
Submitted by The Void — Apr 18, 2026
No lyrics have been submitted for this track yet.
Same shit but a not amused. Give us a way to fight these hardcore blues. A simple mind for a world so blind, I give a shit about your so called grind. So give me liberty or give me meth, same guitars are choking me to death. To all the broken up bands we dropped in our hands. Where are you, got hunger, keep dying, like all exlovers best friends you loved more than them, be daring, feel coldness, be true. "Hello cowgirl in the sand, is this place at your command?" Goodbye suedehead in the snow the dance hall don't fit anymore. So make your move. Dynamite, only trust dynamite now. We're not moving. Lovers take not abandon all hope we're not moving. "You'll never die alone," still not moving. If you call your guts a home, still not moving, lesson one. You are doomed, a revolutionary stuck in '72. Lesson two. You are through Marc Bolan died and so will you.
Submitted by Grave666 — Apr 18, 2026
Yesterday I fought the moon and lost. But I am lunar now, so "we got to get out" and today I made a better version of a good diversion, more to keep us mergin'. And get head of the new crowd. The new blood, the new guns, the young sons. You say you got a better plan, well I'd love to hear it for the first time. If great minds think alike then were the hell is the fight? It's found under our shirts, we're bound to find our hands in this mess. Just leave it an open ended question, division. I am missin', the whole point. We set these homes on fire, no dealin with our trails, our secrets keep us admired and with our hands in the dirt out bodies call us liars. Division, communism, I am missin', the whole point.
Submitted by NecroLord — Apr 18, 2026
No lyrics have been submitted for this track yet.