I'm really tired of this place,
Tired of the pain i always have to face...
This small town is marked with so many memories,
And good friends who turned into enemies...
Right behind the bush is where my best friend died,
Up in that back yard we saw them take him after his suicide...
And this street is where we were arrested for the first time,
It's where our homes are, along with mine...
Those dirt roads are where we mud-bog after a bad day,
Those striping pits where we'd hang out to make the pain go away...
Late night walks with happiness in a brown paper bag,
Shooting the bull with our neighbors and bumming for a drag...
The garage up the street...
Where i had my pride knocked out from under my feet...
Where i was threatened to give myself up,
Nothing i did was ever good enough..
My own house on my own living room floor,
That day when the bastard came walking in my door,
When i was hit and forced into it,
He didn't care one bit...
Down at the fires where drugs were our best friends,
Bonfires to remember friends who had short ends...
Waking up in this town to a brand new day,
Wondering if this pain i have will ever go away...
