Youth Wasted - The Bronx

The truth is, the truth still hurts

And that dept will just get worse

Repetition makes us colder

Death creeps a little bit closer

Sometimes the best laid plans

Still end with blood on your hands

Sometimes the best laid plans

Still end with blood on your hands

Don’t look back and lose your ground

Or keep passing don’t slow down

The fault with the burden on each shoulder

The time has come to stop lying over

Sometimes the best laid plans

Still end with blood on your hands

Sometimes the best laid plans

Still end with blood on your hands

The night was black, my eyes were red

Of past, present, future in my head

When did I learn to bite my tongue?

Youth is not wasted on the young

Sometimes the best laid plans

Still end with blood on your hands

Sometimes the best laid plans

Still end with blood on your hands

I gotta get this blood, off our hands

We gotta get this blood, off our hands