The story
The hurt spreads wider than one broken heart.
He moves through the night with his guard up, finding the same bruise under different names: the work shirt, the bar stool, the quiet room. Every hard face and bitten tongue points to the same truth—loss does not pick favorites, and the line between the one who hurts and the one who hides keeps thinning. By the end, he knows the blood on his hands could be anyone’s.
No lyric sheet is published for this track, so this reading is drawn from its title and the sound of the record.
Lyrics
The lyric sheet for this one isn't published yet — press play and listen along.