Bullet wounds waiting for their close-up tension builds and panic stings the air as push comes to shove comes to blood on the asphalt comes to cries through the night comes to blood comes to cries there 's no release but hysteria as habit anger born from custom giving us direction in this numb state of coincidence and repetition disgust makes me feel alive the tip of my pointing finger the illusion of an engaged humanity (bullet wounds overexposed) indistinct screaming continues in the distance fleeting objects of angst spewing hatred keeps ourselves from disappearing on this ship without a compass in an ocean of darkness at least here we have our enemies at least here 's something by which to know ourselves.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
