| Song | Design |
| Artist | Star Fucking Hipsters |
| Album | Never Rest In Peace |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| It’s a simple disease yet complex with complicity | |
| It’s the dying mans voice when no words can be spun | |
| It’s the wrench in the cogs of the smoking machinery | |
| That plows through family and friends just for fun | |
| When you can’t stop a world that’s grown ill with insanity | |
| And there’re no longer words to express your distrust | |
| And this fucking disaster shows no rhythm or rhyme | |
| That we’ve ruined it all disassembled | |
| From our own | |
| Design, design, designed to distrust | |
| Design, design, designed to be lost | |
| Designed, in blood we all sign | |
| Grave obligations to commit unforgivable | |
| We need 600 bodies to complete this new graveyard | |
| And 10,000 gallons just to drown all our rage | |
| A dozen more names just to finish the headstones | |
| Some bravery to get us all out of this cage | |
| The bodies stack high in this tomb of society | |
| And the blade in my skin always writes the best lines | |
| A stony dead silence seems to cut through the scenery | |
| It’s the malignant cancer we’ve created through our own | |
| Design, design, designed to distrust | |
| Design, design, designed to be lost | |
| Designed, in blood we all sign | |
| Grave obligations to commit unforgivable crimes | |
| Crimes, crimes of a dubious nature | |
| Crimes just for quick-cash or more social stature | |
| Crimes, against our own world in time | |
| Wicked mistakes makes us victims of our own | |
| Design, design, designed to distrust | |
| Design, design, designed to be lost | |
| Designed | |
| Design, design, designed to distrust | |
| Design, design, designed to be lost | |
| Designed |
| It' s a simple disease yet complex with complicity | |
| It' s the dying mans voice when no words can be spun | |
| It' s the wrench in the cogs of the smoking machinery | |
| That plows through family and friends just for fun | |
| When you can' t stop a world that' s grown ill with insanity | |
| And there' re no longer words to express your distrust | |
| And this fucking disaster shows no rhythm or rhyme | |
| That we' ve ruined it all disassembled | |
| From our own | |
| Design, design, designed to distrust | |
| Design, design, designed to be lost | |
| Designed, in blood we all sign | |
| Grave obligations to commit unforgivable | |
| We need 600 bodies to complete this new graveyard | |
| And 10, 000 gallons just to drown all our rage | |
| A dozen more names just to finish the headstones | |
| Some bravery to get us all out of this cage | |
| The bodies stack high in this tomb of society | |
| And the blade in my skin always writes the best lines | |
| A stony dead silence seems to cut through the scenery | |
| It' s the malignant cancer we' ve created through our own | |
| Design, design, designed to distrust | |
| Design, design, designed to be lost | |
| Designed, in blood we all sign | |
| Grave obligations to commit unforgivable crimes | |
| Crimes, crimes of a dubious nature | |
| Crimes just for quickcash or more social stature | |
| Crimes, against our own world in time | |
| Wicked mistakes makes us victims of our own | |
| Design, design, designed to distrust | |
| Design, design, designed to be lost | |
| Designed | |
| Design, design, designed to distrust | |
| Design, design, designed to be lost | |
| Designed |
| It' s a simple disease yet complex with complicity | |
| It' s the dying mans voice when no words can be spun | |
| It' s the wrench in the cogs of the smoking machinery | |
| That plows through family and friends just for fun | |
| When you can' t stop a world that' s grown ill with insanity | |
| And there' re no longer words to express your distrust | |
| And this fucking disaster shows no rhythm or rhyme | |
| That we' ve ruined it all disassembled | |
| From our own | |
| Design, design, designed to distrust | |
| Design, design, designed to be lost | |
| Designed, in blood we all sign | |
| Grave obligations to commit unforgivable | |
| We need 600 bodies to complete this new graveyard | |
| And 10, 000 gallons just to drown all our rage | |
| A dozen more names just to finish the headstones | |
| Some bravery to get us all out of this cage | |
| The bodies stack high in this tomb of society | |
| And the blade in my skin always writes the best lines | |
| A stony dead silence seems to cut through the scenery | |
| It' s the malignant cancer we' ve created through our own | |
| Design, design, designed to distrust | |
| Design, design, designed to be lost | |
| Designed, in blood we all sign | |
| Grave obligations to commit unforgivable crimes | |
| Crimes, crimes of a dubious nature | |
| Crimes just for quickcash or more social stature | |
| Crimes, against our own world in time | |
| Wicked mistakes makes us victims of our own | |
| Design, design, designed to distrust | |
| Design, design, designed to be lost | |
| Designed | |
| Design, design, designed to distrust | |
| Design, design, designed to be lost | |
| Designed |