Texty:
Small Arms Dealer A Single Unifying Theory

I'm burnt out. like a corpse in a campfire. all i got is time. there is something. in the eyes of a child. it may rust and fade. but it can never die

one. our fates are the same. they all lead to a grave. how does it end? it ends badly. here we are. hellfire and all. it's a sin, but i burn gladly. (

make a point to disappoint. i wrote the book on self defeat. and god can goddamn it. he gave up and said the devil could have it. there's a problem with

is that you bury me deep. at least... thirteen feet under the ground. i won't make a sound. i promise you this. i have witnessed, my own train wreck. leaves a bad taste, and a

small arms drawn, hot lead for you. stopped hearts... make you drop dead. exploding thoughts explode your head. when the killing stops, we are not moved. we deal in lead, we deal

how did it come to this? you're maladjusted like i am, you're wearing it on your wrists. you feel frustrated and it's not fair, but fairness ain't worth a