Teacher, Preacher

I'm just a teacher sending all of my fears in baby boy
lasting impressions but my conscience is clear
i live accordingly to rally my poison and destroy
what's the difference if we're falling to pieces?

i'd bet the door is talking telling the walls of what is said
passing the feeling that we're all beyond repair
spare me opinions you can bet on my words
that i cloil back rarely or fashion the truth

i just can't get enough so tell me are we something at all
i think i've had enough to know we've never been and never will be

can we get it straight? get the to file down the edge away, or will it tear us apart?
at the end bet your breath that they've taken the air

they'll fade you til they get enough
so often danger they can cut you to the bone
i feel you but they won't stop
until you're ragged and empty and tired and old

it's like a heart attack they gather round you hugging the floor
creating a hole pointing fingers while you're gasping