| Post Trumatic Death |
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An allegiance of forces, disgusted at the pace of life that we've been racing.
I think the problem here is our backs turned no facing, turned not facing.
Spit those pills out of your mouth, man over machine.
Don't make your enemy your mind.
Question relying on internal insecurities.
They...will...make...you...
The spotlight of your own silent circur
Quiet circur.
My own just splashed everywhere like spilt milk,
Someone please don't cry over it.
Unwanted snow sticks with you wherever you go, never melting
This is a call of the utmost importances,
The power of the punch is on your side,
This is a war cry felt with a sour does of salt rubbed in your eye.
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