Woorden: Matthew Good Band. Last Of The Ghetto Astronauts. Fearless.

Is there anything that I need to say
That hasn't been said before?
I have been polite for too long
Why should I be anymore?

Better now than never, better loud than clever
Better just to play the fool, it's times like this
When you just close your eyes and kiss
'Cause everything after this is just bullshit and being cruel

So hold me up, I'm going out
And don't wait up, I won't be coming home

If you lay me down in concrete fields
Will I dream of grass and opera?
This is the sound and how it feels
To be dead

In the end there will be fire and brimstone
And no one will be there to answer the telephone
You are the only one I'll miss
You are the only answer at a time like this

She is the trick of my trade
She is the thing that can't be made
She is gold and nothing less
And she is fearless

So hold me up, we're going out
And don't wait up, we won't be coming home

You hold it in your hand
You keep it in your heart
You hide it in your head
And you use it when you have to

She is the trick of my trade
These are the things that can't be made
Stay yourself and nothing less
Stay fearless