Clean yourself up and put on a tie and go outside. Nothing like the first day of the rest of your life. But I guess that it's the taste I'll miss the most. But, you know, I'll try. I'll try to forget. Gimme just a taste and I'll wipe it clean. Then, you know, I'll try. I'll try to forget. Wipe it clean. Try to forget that I wiped it clean. They put a hook inside of me. Now I got nothing. Nothing on my tongue. But the bitter taste of yesterday's cum. Nothing. Nothing on my tongue. But the sweet taste of the devil's cum. They put a hook inside of me.
Track Name: Low Fruit On The Vine
What does it take to believe? What does it take to turn men into beasts? Been thinking about my tombstone while life just fizzles and stumbles and slithers on by. I've got a mind for the truth. Bent out of shapeless thoughts and these screens strapped right to my eyes. Everyone's half asleep half the time anyway. What does it take to believe? What does it take to turn men into beasts? Been thinking about my tombstone, my life. Anyway you slice it, I come out butchered. Lying in the grass. Getting bit by mosquitoes. Or sitting in the sun sweating through my shirt. Always finding ways not to find what I'm looking for. And maybe I won't. Functional fiction or optional faith. Either way I feel fine. But I don't think we should have this conversation without showing a little restraint.
Track Name: Fires of Hell
I've got a neighbor upstairs. He listens through the walls. Sucking on a liar's tongue. He's waiting for the call. He's waiting for the ghosts he don't believe in. To write it on the wall. But I wish he'd just leave me out. The same I was before. He lives above my home. I hear him walking all night long. I don't believe in luck unless I need it. And I need it now to put out the fires of hell.