(glamour in bruising and style in death)
we’re addicted to pain and it feels natural as breath.
so the more we fight, the better we feel
as we grip onto conflict and our words of steel
we argue and blame and accuse and we lie
locked up in the cycle, we won’t stop ’til we die
if we’re on the retreat or on the attack
we hope that the warfare will make up our lack
we label and judge and we dig our trenches long
we don’t want to consider we might just be wrong
never accepting and always left wanting more
we’re addicted to pain though it makes our lives sore.