You Win Some, You Tie Some

It isn’t love
That breaks your heart
It isn’t love
That rips your skull apart
It’s a self inflicted wound you pay
I guess I’ll play the doctor today
It isn’t god
Who strikes the match
It isn’t god
Who’s there to catch you
you use your own two hands to climb
And knock yourself down every time
Everybody wants
Something pretty
A shiny coin
In a filthy city
But if you want the old authentic feel
I guarantee my ugliness is real
I guarantee my ugliness is real