Black Lungs

You've got pictures in frames
You've got voices and names
You've got rust on the bike
You used to ride when you were young
You've got letters in a box
And you've got holes in your socks
You've got the taste of your first kiss
Still sitting on your tongue

And you realize all of the stories you tell
Are from those glory days
And your friends they check in every now and again
On Christmases and birthdays
But you remember a time that nobody cared
About danger or consеquences
And evеryone vowed that they wouldn't end up
Behind white picket fences
And though nobody sings them anymore
You remember the songs that you sung
Now all of the people you loved are dying
From a blackness of the lung