Old Wounds Actual Nothing
Since the beginning you were at the end of your rope. In the end it's my hands at your throat. It's no surprise you're the thorn in my side. Don't turn to me for any sympathy. You're just another memory. It's your knife at my back, but now it's my hands at your throat. You're the sheep that you don't claim to be. Hiding in wolves' skin that you could never fit in
