Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Requests become regrets, and secrets become consequences

I never really got the hang of hormones
Maybe I never could get them to
I'm so tired of standing for the fallen
I wanna be the pusher
These drugs can't cut it tho
Only razors and your lips
This week is infected
Oh Friday spit it out
Rust me til next time
Lockjaw and shotguns
Shells in your back, not on them
You can't hide so take a seat
You're only getting out of here one of two ways
Through that door or down my throat
You're too big of a pill to swallow
In halves and in hell
Well the mayday sirens have been signaled
You're a sell out

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