тормоза. Пр. А те, в кого верил, ушли далеко, И движения их не видны. И в промозглую рань подзаборная дрянь Вырезает тебе на груди Предчувствие Гражданской
Предчувствие смерти, как это ни странно, возникло в подкорке моей, постоянно беззвучьем растет в голове окаянной. Я жду твоей смерти, но как это странно
My soul is a desert Where nothing is comfort Sheltered from chaos And sheltered from you Can't feel you anymore Don't need you anymore Don't believe
By your heartstrings I am hanging from a dream Gently swinging in the warm autumn breeze Come look at the scars Smother a heart, opening up Look at the
[Instrumental]
(chorus) x2 Die!!!, I choose before you One by one we will pick you You will die!!! (fuck it....psychological) Verse one: Siccmade music comin up out
Is my house holding its own? Dread by my premonition Contending the bone, fed by antagonism Fear for my home, bred by my premonition Contending the bone
Real to real, fact to fact Nothing moving happening, artifact The waiting room waits, limbo can burn But the original sin, the incentive to learn Fly
You rolled your tongue, you spat... I flew... A hole in one! Despatched me in the kitchen sink; I sank confused and bruised and thinking about our honeymoon
[instrumental]
Talk to a man just to get a little work Then you talk to the hand just to get a little jerk Some people die, then they start to get old But I don?t wanna
By your heartstrings I am hanging from a dream Gently swinging in the Warm autumn breeze Come, look at the scars, smother a heart Opening up Look at
Stand aside now no one will survive can't tell you how I know In some time I will change my name and lay low In the light you can see me walk down by
I could feel it coming I could sense that nothing good was happening that day I got a funny feeling I could smell that something bad was cooking at my
A quick glance forward Only lends a hard hand backwards Leaning not on self alone Yet feeling sufficient for life giving forces Recklessness ends all
I got mad visions, pictures and premonitions Of war drums and suicide missions Prosecution, execution, revolution, mass confusion All over ready for war
She's so small Tiny and crushed up Fifty four, the size of a child Long pale hair Her eyes are all red She's got skin the color of bread He's all bald
