Texty: 12 Summers Old. Sinners Lose Their Legs.

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Keep your hands to your self Sinners lose their legs, so the saints will march in place To the tune of every doubt you?ve ever had That you ever had before I?ll do anything to save you from yourself I?ll do anything to keep lines between us Calm and steady while we figure this out I?m in no mood for, the sins you love Liar, liars fill this place And I?m taking this trophy home with me And I?m mourning every promise I ever made That I ever made to you