Laugh with a mic dipped in
blood filled with oily boiling oil
eatin’ a mountain down to a bass stronger,
louder than banshee's metal chords.
It hurts my stomach,
my head is explodin'.
Your choice your choice.
Fight for blood.
Blood fights back and scabs over a cut,
but!
I’ll keep pickin’ pickin’ it,
Makin’ it bleed again.
Open up again.
I don’t want, I don’t want,
I don’t want to win.
I don’t like to follow.
I never want to lead.
So we just sit back
Mysteriously feeding,
feeding on the once good memories,
A valuable lesson taught by life’s down.
read the lines,
slipin’ on ice,
runnin’ like mice.
Coated like spice.