This paint has been tasting of lead
    & their chips will fall as they may,
    but it's not just my finish that is peeling,
    & it is not alone fleeing these walls.
    
    Well sooner of later this cold
    it's gonna break
    & our hands will be warm again,
    but all I want is not to need you now.
    And sooner or later this cold
    it's gonna break
    & our words will be heard again,
    but all I want are vows of silence now.
    
    This turpentine chaser's got kick
    & the rag that it's soaked in is rich.
    The fumes aide the pace of my cleaning
    & as soon as I'm done I am gone.
    
    The frightening facts
    we've been facing our backs
    for so long now
    are begging for eyes
    to bear witness to lies
    & indifference.
    
    Now we're saying aloud
    the things we've declared in our silence.
    The new coats of paint will not reaquaint
    broken hearts to broken homes.