Like the smell of cigarettes
Old whiskey drawn into the carpets of a motel room
The dust that settles on on the television set
The filth that fills the very air you breathe
The light from half drawn curtains
Beauty is what you want but this is what you get

The broken walls
The mildew stained tiles in the bathroom
A shower that could never make you clean
The deaths of a thousand dreams
The funerals in the rain
And the agony of a life that has never been

I swear the faces are burned into the concrete
The shattered mirror that reflects only the ugly parts
Picking at the scabs to open the wounds
There is no going home or anywhere but here
There is no comfort or sleep in the sheets
It should be a bed, but instead its a tomb

There are six rounds in the revolver
Although a man would need only one
So much blood, pieces of a wasted heart
All this, for a single hateful lover
The betrayal,lust and lies
It's not the bullet, but love that pulls the flesh apart