Four years of wading water, only to get this far I've worn of empathizing, since the ghosts are behind me in warm bodies Turning, coughing, laughing, twitching. There's not much left to say At least not for today Here. Here is your best friend and this is the knife Let's go feed our dead Billboards blur together just as our good times do Dropping seconds, losing hours to dried out flowers Let's go feed the dead or just talk to their heads Here. Here is your best friend and this is the knife Let's go feed our dead. Pay our respects and act like they're fed Take this knife