For every stupid thing I've said
You have a dime that's worse for wear
You claim the thoughts inside my head
And pull them out into the air
As if a single golden coin
Could be the thing that makes this right
Yeah, to the victor go the spoils
And all my words can spoil the night
They stain my lips, they stain the air
And mark the atmosphere you breathe
They taint the ground on which you walk
Yeah, they can soil your precious streets
You'll never pay me for discretion
You'll never bribe away the truth
I'm so far gone beyond retention
Your efforts are a point that's moot
A dam is loose, a seal is broke
There's nothing now that you could do
No lengths that you could ever go to
That wouldn't perish in the smoke
The Truth will out, the Truth will go
Wherever Truth sees fit to be
And though it have no other place
This Truth will have a place in me
*Dimes are not gold- this is besides the point.
