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Hell on the Throat [Acoustic]
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Dashboard Confessional
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1
A line of strands to mark the trail.
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No one said it would be easy.
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I must admit,
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I thought that risk was better waged in younger seasons.
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Years in the cold, burn in my throat.
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Everything I say burns like cinders.
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But it's hard to belong to a girl or a song,
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In the crease of a strangling winter.
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Strange to be lost
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Stranger still to be lone in the strings of a twisting line.
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Along the way the turns are sharp
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No one said they would be easy
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I must admit I thought the trip was better in younger seasons.
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But all these years in the pursuit made a man of a fool
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Till every word I say is on waver.
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Why it's hard to belong to a girl
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Or a song in the case of a selfish believer
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It's strange to be lost and stranger
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Still to be lone in the strings in a twisting line
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It's strange to be lost and stranger
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Still to be lone in the strings in a twisting line
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And when the path I have made from the grass to the grave
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I will love you still
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And when the sand turns to glass and all
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That's left is the past and I will love you still.
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