The sulfur infect everything that we've created.
Don't twist this around.
Don't attempt to justify what we know is wrong.
Tendons are torn and screams are released
Into a poisoned, mathematic atmosphere.
We're composing our funeral songs, note, (note) note by note. (by note)
We're composing our funeral songs, note, (note) note by note. (by note)
With this I declare that tomorrow is an allusion.
What if the clouds are, are fragments of mistakes,
Fabricated by the factors of our foolishness?
We're composing our funeral songs, note (note) note by note. (by note)
We're composing our funeral songs, note (note) note by note.
Prove me wrong (3x)
0 Comments