Red Laces - Funeral Chic

Waged war on personal soil

Somebody buries their son, frontless and cold

Plucked from the ditch he’ll be left

Stripped of power forever

No redemption, no salvation

Just a decrepit fucking relic

He had it coming

He fucking got it

Every chain they swing, flag they wave is mine

Beyond respect, beyond forgiveness

Past the point of opting out

Don’t want your foot out the door, I want your head on a stick, I want your

fucking scalp

To see you hanging by your neck from your fucking red laces