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Racebannon
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Clubber Lang
Yr killed enemies have risen to destroy yr intellectual capabilities and yr ability to head face first into the dirt has taught you nothing but how to get lost in this open field of market and value. I've got heartburn. I can't pay my goddamn rent. Too much attention spent loading myself with the outcome that all these things would come out great. Too late to head back a little. This is the only road you've come to. This is the only road that's come true. She wasn't looking at you, it was just the fact that you just happened to be around. Gone the silly casual dress code that took hold of all of the world around you. Look at what it is that surrounds you. The last thoughts of an overbearing ghost sprinkling the haze with some mumbo jumbo about yr killed enemies rise. Long standing ties with notorious movers and shakers can't get you much but looks at latest glamour trends and glamour spends most of its day laughing and pointing at you. Spouting off about all these unknown things that bring the attention from yr hopeful pose. The hopeful knows better than to let go of his last ten dollars. Blue collar nothings shinin' loud to make the world blow up. And if the world shows up for it all they can see the image coming at them with no unnecessary alarms. She harms no one. She charms for the sake of my anxiety relief. Unique patterns on the window sills, still gives clues to false entry. I'm false empty without the hope of any kind of outcome. Out comes the trumpets boys, the show's heading home. Laying down to soak in this falling position. With a single listen, it makes you even wonder why you started. Well you started to save yrself from the falling off the cliff. Help me hold on.
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