Black Lungs

You've got pictures in frames You've got voices and names You've got rust on the bike You used to ride when you were young You've got letters in a box And you've got holes in your socks You've got the taste of your first kiss Still sitting on your tongue And you realize all of the stories you tell Are from those glory days And your friends they check in every now and again On Christmases and birthdays But you remember a time that nobody cared About danger or consеquences And evеryone vowed that they wouldn't end up Behind white picket fences And though nobody sings them anymore You remember the songs that you sung Now all of the people you loved are dying From a blackness of the lung