Your name is sore under my sleeve.
Blood-soaked shirts cross my mind.
Reminding me of all the lost times.
All the times I could have said,
What's killing me inside.
I can't say. I look into your Icy Blues.
And I just can't say.
Those three words. They carve your name in me.
How simple it all must seem.
To anyone else. But me.
I'll never say, what I never tried to say.
So you see, It will be alright. It will be okay.
Looking into your Icy blues.
I'll go out in style.
Your name is so sore under my sleeve.
Your name. So sore.
By the time it's possible for me to tell.
What I've wanted to say.
You won't be able to hear me.
Your name is so sore. You can't hear me anymore.
Your name. So sore. So bloody. You can't hear me anymore.
It's okay. I'm going out in style.
I mean, you can't even hear me.
Now can you, Kyle?