We'll have confession at 8 where all the whores can congregate and spill our guts onto the streets sex, love, hoes, and cheats Conformity will sing its song and all the boys will drum along Isnt it sad when you let friends go Stop singing words to songs you know Lose touch with the reality you promised you would let grow I'm trying not to look bored with a broken heart and spinal chord life doesnt seem the same