Gonebones Lyrics

	作曲 : Drucker
	The Past
	A definite nothing much,
	biproduct of the heights of flesh and such.
	Net weight of one's ghost, got
	A solved version of a former you,
	Not congealing on the ceiling of your present song,
	as it's greys reach off into gone.
	A bread end egg,
	if ever there was one
	Nigh are those long gone bones on me (x2)
	Still you will to will to kill
	The Present
	The bread basket of choice
	The all mighty and bone holding now,
	where the day wears down on your direction and dive.
	Dripping its sad math in the brief breathe slide,
	of every second sucked into the pearl that becomes you
	Nigh are those long gone bones on me (x2)
	Still you will to will to kill
	The Future
	The future is fully opposable.
	Statistically there are no present plans of actions took,
	that can truly and entirely ever affect it,
	nor set its effects completely to a certain more desirable strain of so
	In fact
	to the thinking thing,
	it is a killer black,
	an unpredictable and all devouring trap.
	It is a hollow in the mind, begging to be let out and bleach the now,
	ignite the uquiets of the often fear-eyed and endowed skull.
	Drawing the stinging things to mean,
	out like a present danger does the venom.
	We are but a swarm of ants to tremble on its handgun
	The blood on its shield
	A single swallow to its honey-smothered winds of wield
	To it your death is a fact
	To you an axe
	Nigh are those long gone bones on me

	zuo qu : Drucker
	The Past
	A definite nothing much,
	biproduct of the heights of flesh and such.
	Net weight of one' s ghost, got
	A solved version of a former you,
	Not congealing on the ceiling of your present song,
	as it' s greys reach off into gone.
	A bread end egg,
	if ever there was one
	Nigh are those long gone bones on me x2
	Still you will to will to kill
	The Present
	The bread basket of choice
	The all mighty and bone holding now,
	where the day wears down on your direction and dive.
	Dripping its sad math in the brief breathe slide,
	of every second sucked into the pearl that becomes you
	Nigh are those long gone bones on me x2
	Still you will to will to kill
	The Future
	The future is fully opposable.
	Statistically there are no present plans of actions took,
	that can truly and entirely ever affect it,
	nor set its effects completely to a certain more desirable strain of so
	In fact
	to the thinking thing,
	it is a killer black,
	an unpredictable and all devouring trap.
	It is a hollow in the mind, begging to be let out and bleach the now,
	ignite the uquiets of the often feareyed and endowed skull.
	Drawing the stinging things to mean,
	out like a present danger does the venom.
	We are but a swarm of ants to tremble on its handgun
	The blood on its shield
	A single swallow to its honeysmothered winds of wield
	To it your death is a fact
	To you an axe
	Nigh are those long gone bones on me

	zuò qǔ : Drucker
	The Past
	A definite nothing much,
	biproduct of the heights of flesh and such.
	Net weight of one' s ghost, got
	A solved version of a former you,
	Not congealing on the ceiling of your present song,
	as it' s greys reach off into gone.
	A bread end egg,
	if ever there was one
	Nigh are those long gone bones on me x2
	Still you will to will to kill
	The Present
	The bread basket of choice
	The all mighty and bone holding now,
	where the day wears down on your direction and dive.
	Dripping its sad math in the brief breathe slide,
	of every second sucked into the pearl that becomes you
	Nigh are those long gone bones on me x2
	Still you will to will to kill
	The Future
	The future is fully opposable.
	Statistically there are no present plans of actions took,
	that can truly and entirely ever affect it,
	nor set its effects completely to a certain more desirable strain of so
	In fact
	to the thinking thing,
	it is a killer black,
	an unpredictable and all devouring trap.
	It is a hollow in the mind, begging to be let out and bleach the now,
	ignite the uquiets of the often feareyed and endowed skull.
	Drawing the stinging things to mean,
	out like a present danger does the venom.
	We are but a swarm of ants to tremble on its handgun
	The blood on its shield
	A single swallow to its honeysmothered winds of wield
	To it your death is a fact
	To you an axe
	Nigh are those long gone bones on me

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