Woorden: Cursive. Downhill Racers.

Hold your breath, dear
This ship is going down
We're all downhill
Running with our timebombs
These shins are cracked and splintered
These lips are crusted shut
These squinting eyes just sting me
These veins are drying me up

All my limbs
They're just tools
We're all stilted vechiles
These joints rust
These pores leak
Time gets selfish
Time is SPEED

The sweetest dreams... have murdered me. They murdered me. They murdered me.

Like the fear of unskilled labor in the nuclear family
It's the nightmare of digression that engulfs a history

All my limbs
They're just tools
Duplicated, mass produced
Running down
Losing speed
Time escapes us
Timing's everything.
Everything.

Everything... This is the tic in the heart
Everything... This is the beating of the clock
Everything... This is an absent blood clot
Everything... These are the seconds that I've lost
Everything... This is the slow-rush hour
Everything's so rushed (This is the slow-rush... hour)
Everything... This is the slow rush.