One Eleven

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It's one eleven and we're done with heaven, cause angels don't live here. The sinners are near. Living life on the clock with burning fires for hearts. Always lusting after what we want what we can't have. Your hand in mine. You by my side.

It's one eleven and the streets are cold full of restless unfortunate souls. Looking for the meaning in it all. In the mess, we've made thus far. And I'm looking for your face among the lines of the disgraced. I know angels don't live here. Only where the sinners are is where you could be. And I'm holding onto the hope that you are okay. No slitted wrists and pain. But each day's a new round of the Russian roulette you always wanna play. And I'm afraid, but telling you how to live your life is not my place.

It's one eleven and the snow is coming down in sheets on the street where we always meet. And I'm looking for your smile; forgetting it's turned into a frown. And the snows so aggressive it's put some peoples fires out. And I wonder where you are now, as I search through blank faces. The sinners you hold dear, but you aren't here.
It's one eleven and there's blood on the floor, a trail of it to your emaciated corpse. You starved yourself just for the hurt. I couldn't save you. I'm not an angel or some biblical hero. I'm a sinner lost in the masses now. Walking the desolate street in the darkness. I know Angels don't live here for fear of their wrath, the sinners stay. In the darkness their dying fires betray. In a world where light doesn't shine anymore. In the place, where lost souls adhere. I'm standing here. Searching blank faces holding back tears because you're not here, because you're not here.
It's one eleven and I'm done with heaven cause angels don't live here. I belong with the sinners here, but you're not here, no you're not here.

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