A Week In July
without the bitter
What are we fighting for? Wish I didnât know your name.
Donât try to come back, it will never be the same,
So now you think you know everything.
Iâm happy youâre gone, now we know your lame.
I would rather spit than see your face,
Soon the world will know that youâre a waste,
We donât care now so I ask you please will you stop?
Stop trying trying to be someone youâre not. Long may you roam,
Boy without a home itâs not your fault no one raised you to be loyal.
Itâs much better without you around.
I donât want to even hear a sound from you again, forever.
I hope our ties remain severed.
Long Amy you roam, boy without a home
Long may you ride on all your little lies