| Song | The October Tradition |
| Artist | Southcott |
| Album | Flee the Scene |
| And this is fleeting, | |
| This sick, sickness | |
| I'm seeking, | |
| With tire tread tired eyes, | |
| A crooked smile, | |
| You'd love, to defile. | |
| Don't let me down, | |
| With my ear to the ground, | |
| I can hear the earth sigh, | |
| At the sight of your insides, | |
| As you hide behind the lies that you so desperately tell. | |
| Fists pummeling like cruise ships, | |
| And motorcycle teeth, | |
| That are humming between our breaths, | |
| And rest, | |
| To the beat, | |
| Of these simple streets. |