Lyrics

I'm sick of shaking hands I'm feeling all too withered I can't count the ways That we've become untethered But I can limp right back I'll put things back together If you're gone, it's alright There are roses on the vine And I was made to march on 'Til the end I'd blow away your tears And suffer for your pleasure Been tossed around before And lost just like a feather So I will limp right back I'll put things back together If you're gone, it's alright There are roses on the vine And I was made to march on 'Til the end Through sickness and in health The friends I know so well Pain, blame Means to satisfy Through sickness and in health The friends I know so well Pain, blame Means to satisfy I'm sick of shaking hands I'm feeling all too withered I can't count the ways That we've become untethered But I can limp right back I'll put things back together If you're gone, it's alright There are roses on the vine And I was made to march on 'Til the end