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Under bruised skies
steel and blood sweat,
from skin,
our hearts humid like the mouths of wolves.

We are the sons of chaos,
left wild in darkness,
beneath the moon.

Trampled flowers in mud,
with knives for petals.

We will take our peace of mind,
and we won't be the last,
we won't be the last.

This the west,
where young men are eaten and vomited kings.

Heist!
This a heist of the american dream.

Heist!
We will take our peace of mind.

And we won't be the last,
we won't be the last.

This is... a heist of the american dream.
This is a heist.

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