Texty: Bled (The). Pass The Flask. Nothing We Say Leave This Room.

Your eyes being to stare at the polygraph machine as you become aware of the
satellites that call her name. It's as if the ocean swallowed the city
lights that we fell in love with. Paralyzed and paranoid, we withdraw the
hands we held. This is beginning to get ugly, dear. You feed me to the
lions. Now the tongue becomes the bridge between broken teeth. Now you feed
me to the lions. How we reach for the arms but only clasp the knees. How we
reach for each other only to die alone. How we reach for the stars only to
swim through the dead. How we strive to connect only to fall apart. Just
between me and you I felt the rapture in your arms.