|
Lucean, |
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I'm so tired of flesh and blood |
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My lord has grown so vile |
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Shamefulness descends upon the shoulders |
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Kicking the corpse until the fun wears off |
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Bleeding septums and S41 |
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Talking needs to the sun comes up |
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Rich boys they just need a hand or hand down |
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From papa |
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Wouldn't it be too divine |
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With a start, middle and an end |
|
Wouldn't it be too divine |
|
If we could see a way out |
|
Wouldn't it be too divine |
|
With a start, middle and an end |
|
Wouldn't it be too divine |
|
If we could see a way out |
|
There's a blizzard in the after hours bars |
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Raining my way down the strand |
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Who are these fags in the red bow ties |
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ruining it for the rest of us |
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Self content for the young, the younger beset |
|
that history will always eat itself |
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Rich boys they just need a hand |
|
or a good old fashioned war |
|
Wouldn't it be too divine |
|
With a start, middle and an end |
|
Wouldn't it be too divine |
|
If we could see a way out |
|
Wouldn't it be too divine |
|
With a start, middle and an end |
|
Wouldn't it be too divine |
|
If we could see a way out |
