I can taste the vomit
In my nose and feel the
Burning concrete through my
Toes this poverty striken place
Is eating me alive...
Busted beer chests, what feels best
Busted headlights - back home I guess
Green trees, beach scenes
Not too sober is the life for me
chorus:
This town sticks in my back
Like a magnet for the stricken
And I always come back
Everyone's home is sinned and stained
Memories poor salt in your wounds
My heart is tore down disillussionment kills
For all the punks and all the skins
For all the bastards who couldn't win
We rose up, we stayed and fought
Even after all hope was lost