[Untitled Track]
These poor threads can only make poor clothing
Clothing I will wear on my emotions
They will never keep away the cold
These poor threads can only make more clothing
An empty gun I carry on my shoulder
I was never born to be a soldier
But I was never born to run and hide
An empty gun I carry on my shoulder
Sleight of hand done by a poor magician
Fingers fumble in his indecision
I just can't seem to make things disappear
He cries
How can I bring them back again
These poor threads can only make poor clothing
Writer/s: H JONES
