We're all creatures of habit,
we spill all our tragic thoughts,
In their little black boxes,
turn our love switches off,
In the morning when freedom is calling,
And all they can hear are the sounds of the haves and have-nots.

They'll break you 10 ways to Sunday,
and 11 to Monday my dear,
They'll break you 10 ways to Sunday,
and 11 to Monday my dear,

Don't give em' your hearts,
give em' your bullets,
They'll hurt less when they throw them back at you,
Hope less romantics,
come on hope a little less romantics.

He never smiles when he's laughing,
but gah there's a passion,
You feel when he's gasping,
we sleep with the monsters we make,
In the evening, when curses have meanings and every demon's
Just some other angel's mistake.

Don't give em' your hearts,
give em' your bullets,
You'll never geel the trigger if it's you that pulls it,
Rope less romantics,
come on hope a little less romantics,

Don't give em' your hearts,
give em' your bullets,
They'll hurt less when they throw them back at you,
No surgeon will patch you,
but at least love, you'll still have your heart,
At least you'll still have your heart.

Hope a little less romantics,
come on, hope a little less romantics