| Song | Hyperviolet |
| Artist | Pig Destroyer |
| Album | Prowler In the Yard |
| Traced in a wet sand her name in perfect cursive. | |
| A love letter to the crescent moon. | |
| By tommorrow it will be gone | |
| I told her. | |
| There is no tommorrow she said. | |
| I can feel her in a bikini of coiled snakes dancing into the hiss of the wind. | |
| Postcards from a paradise in flames. | |
| She used to be so right. | |
| So right about everything. |