Turn up the fucking static
Cause the radio says we're doomed
This is the last of the washed-out summer dreams
in the
God damn these shotgun funerals and the shit I have
ten feet deep by ten feet wide
I'm putting this year
Go ahead. Press the flesh with another dead televangelist. Now
get your eyes off me. keep your head down until
Hey casting couch superstar, we got the letter and we’re
I will take what I want from you, and you
headaches keep getting worse. every plastic surgery eye that looks
it only took one bottle
two vertical lines
a pair of stress
This is the note on the brick through your window.
you might as well put the gun away. this isn't
» More on The Minor Times