Wild ones Wounded ones The ones who never found a home Each with a host of our own fevered ghosts And things we'd never quite outgrown And oh, now weren't we a pretty sight? Those wounded birds hell bent on getting back in flight And oh, that voracious appetite We'd burn it down but somehow always stay entwined Consummate opposites Blissfully ignorant of time I guess the truth is that all of that youth Is wasted on us in our prime And oh, now weren't we a pretty sight? Swallowing pain like it was nothing out of spite But oh, how it caught us, oh so slight With no foundation, it's so easy to unwind Relative Sister, kin The hollow words we try to find Oh how I staggered From each of your daggers The truth is all of us were blind And oh, now weren't we a pretty sight? Each one that ended in a catastrophic fight But oh, that's the thing I keep in mind Champagne and fires just distract me from my life