Texty: Every Time I Die. Gutter Phenomenon. Pretty Dirty.

The great American mischief has muted our hearts and our rhythms are met with the inharmonious grunts of electric guitars
It's all but too much
Nobody out there believes the obscene are reprieved
Everybody get fed up
My baby better get high, I've got something I need to confess
The dead men talking are longing for so much more than simply the obvious. Cut us off. We're suffering, hysterical, lighting flares from the foot of her bed. I've been begging you for less mercy than this. But the only thing you need to know is that you never wanted to know. Take it off, take it back, or take cover because we're nearing a nerve. Dead is wasted on the patient so make haste and head for the wake. Now the hornets inhabit the hearts we've abandoned. We are gone. Cast aside our clothes like funeral roses, and dance straight through the psalm. I'm dead in the water. Don't come for me. I was once alive in the deserts eyes on the day it wed the sea. I drew a chalk outline around your city. Hushed the sobs in your halls. But we both know it's killer, baby he'll outrun them all. There is so much shame in how little we've gained for so long. Now the sky is falling. And you're just repeating every word I say. You are not listening close enough. It's a catastrophe. You have not been concentrating. Pay attention there will be an exam
Build an ark
Come bring us back to the ruin
Drifting out of our heads
Taped off the sky above your city
Dusted for prints on the chapel wall
But we all know that it's killer, baby I will outrun them all