hundred to die I'll put my hands together now Hold them up to the sky But there's no one to save me, yeah 'Cause I know God is a lie, God is a lie Everyday
it again so what? so what? babies tears on a butchers block god loves me well god can blow me i dont believe thats why i said god damn god damn i am god damn god
yeah huh you want to out and hustle core audience a side of belief and a half-gallon of afterclap
hour hero yes, had showed you there'd be days like this... and you find yourself longing for a certain drastic context a dreadful circumstance that will
there in a box with your things, stabbed airholes, and one wing or white lung, when your well will you stay since there is a certain modern earth pain
toward the more dramatic side of everything... we are... flattered i'm sure, and what does modern child mistakenly chalk up to the humongous homogenous win column of god
much machines on every fast like time's too slow this is insect speed still outside the hospital come time is too slow this is insect speed
Big money I love it yeah huh you want to out and hustle Core audience a side of belief and a half-gallon of afterclap
If there were somthing so loud and clear It would have been bought and sold We travle the space ways and doom the space of men and doom the space we'
Much machines on every fast like time's to slow This is insect speed Still outside the hospital Come time is to slow This is insect speed
hour hero yes, had showed you there'd be days like this and you find yourself longing for a certain drastic context a dreadful circumstance that will
We're men of station We are trouble bent just the same But we're not as hell as you
a vision: your ghost blowing up globes. tightening them off with an x-axis-esque c-clamp, then setting them down through the clouds onto empty department
A vision: Your ghost blowing up globes tightening them off with an X-axis esque c-clamp Then setting them down through the clouds onto empty department
we are men of station we are troubled men just the same but we're not as hell as you as hell as you but we're not as hell as you
up by th printer and horse head obssed with your pressing record to indulge in the shallows of here and immortal it is god to name things from thin
if there were not something so loud and clear it would have been bought and sold we travel the space ways (and doom the space of men and doom the space
these tin men are no nonsense not the happiest thing they make the call between black and white and what grey is bore in between and they say kids your
