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