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Trap Them
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Angles Anonymous In Transit
Flatline connectors guide to this house, this home
For bread and dead water and a place to call their own
A billion bottles of the bristled ice and fireflies
To ride the times of wrinkled waste and crystalled eyes
And wanted advice of the god-soaked wine
While the weapons hit the family trees, the fatals got out of their cars
On early lifts
On blood-soaked scenes
And you scanned the globe for safety zones to hide your children while thunder screamed and lightning struck the trophy wives and the father guns
I've slept in your burning beds, I've stood in your family rooms, all stacked with priceless heirlooms of those worthless roots and skeleton lines
And together with your doppelgangers, we got on our feet and I crept in back of each and every one with piano wire in my shitty hands
One by one
On and on
The others lost their throats
The rest just lost their minds
We don't know where we are, we know it flows in the protest hours
And on and on runs the god-soaked wine
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