Your boots still sit by the door
Your co still clings to the drawer
Still hear your laugh in this ghost town
They lit a candle, sang your title
No one talks about the fight
The pills, the tears, the endless night
Last words never said
Echo loud inside my head
Should’ve seen the cracks in the masquerade
You were fire, you were stone
Last words never said—
Now I’m left talkin’ to the dead
They carved your title in cold, gray rock
But I still hear your boots on the sidewalk
And the jukebox plays your songs too much
I wear your jacket in the rain
And when I sing, you’re in the chord
A ghost I love, a wound I hoard
Last words never said
Still poison everything I’ve bled
Just to hear you call my title
You were loud, you were pure
Last words never said—
Now I’m just the echo instead
They said “heat’s peace”, they said “heat’s free”
But what about me?
Wh about the hole I can’t defend?
Fuck peace
I still write songs like you’ll hear
But you’re gone, and I’m the mess
And this mic can’t fill your emptiness
Last words never said
Still tear the wires from my head
Tell ‘em to wait—I ain’t done with fe
You were my blood, you were my band
Last words never said—
Still scream in the things I never read
They buried your body
But not your sound
In every breakdown
Seventy songs deep, and this one’s carved from silence
and built for the ones we can’t bring back. No cheap sentiment. No forgiveness. Just riffs,
regret, and the ghosts we carry on tour.
You want trashy, wild, or “please don’t play this Grandma’s?”
We ride. \m/
Song #71 —we’ve mourned, we’ve screamed, now we’re back to filth
and fire. This one’s about that dirty little backstage detour,
the one with the girl who only knows three things: heels,
heat, and how to make a grown man beg through denim. No love, no numbers —
just a thigh-wrapped sin and a chorus loud enough to drown guilt.
Last Words Never Said
Last Words Never Said