|
Wet/hate hands admitted, |
|
and... |
|
Through dead nails, |
|
All splitting sand... |
|
Underneath it's strychnine |
|
Winds that change are never seen, |
|
Beasts that back to the wall and cry, |
|
Best of the hopeless never die. |
|
For gods' sake forget to speak, |
|
Miles of what you've got to eat... |
|
Terminal, the playgroup says, |
|
Off to the side with an average, |
|
Blaming the dolls like heretics, |
|
Apostles or inebriates. |
|
Hold on tight, |
|
We're going to wake, |
|
Laugh to death |
|
For pities sake, |
|
Framed for crimes that are never sold |
|
Lies and secrets never been told, |
|
Look just like the two of us, |
|
Standingat the terminus. |
