This family is as good as dead And your exactly where we want you Ignore the blades in your bed They only cut you where you want to
Your empty laugh An epitaph A photograph A parasite
We sit and tables and don't speak In front of meals we never fucking eat Bloated from swallowing words And push the leftovers inside the seat
When did i have to start begging For a single scrap of sentiment Let's automate the embedding Til it becomes an impediment
When did i have to start begging To return my devotion Why would i stab you in the back When you've got so many faces to choose from
Your empty laugh An epitaph that's written on A photograph A parasite born backwards on The second Sunday And then refused to die again Maybe one day I'll force you back down the drainTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
