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Matt Pryor
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You Won't Get Any Blood From Me
Ten tiny blades, a thousand little scars
No single cut enough to kill but the strength in numbers
How to wick away a years worth of toil
For every letter on the page, commit a hundred to the soil
All alone again without a dagger or a pen
At this moment, we're no longer opponents
You won't get any blood from me
Not one to criticize, you make me so damn mad
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How I disappoint must have forgot your name
You do not have this thick of skin
You have to hate the game
What is there to say? Let the dogs die where they lay
In this minute I am truly committed
You won't get any blood from me
You won't get any blood from me
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