Sound is the sleeping of the aged
Who've long outlived the
Flat on the floor
Eyes up, facing forth
Without a drink for
I pledge allegiance to the fags, the immigrants, the drunks,
The
You know, this really isn't me at all
I'm following a
I'm a sucker for backwards drums
And underwater photography
If you expect
There's no keeping track of each pretty face
Each black hair
Unbridled debauchery
When you bring your body close to me
At the
I cleaned the blood off you myself
And I waited by
There's been a terrible accident
I don't think I will get
By Roman Numeral XXX
The best of me was gotten, forgotten
My
I really don't care who knows
Each second that it growns
Deeper
Wretched, unwanted
Pushed to the sidelines, kicked to the ground and
» More on The New Trust