No frowns tapping and clocking out, but staring these bottles of doubt on the ground; like all these paper
flyers you're passing around town. Words flowing into memories like flashbacks and visions of the 90's.
Repping paper bag 40's was the fashion of a classic sin, not in a sense; not innocence. State street you're
coming back to me. A little building on the corner of McKenzie, where the wolves hide in the back ground
of isle ten. I drown em out I'm not listening. Snarling their teeth dripping drool of false reality through
broken bags and paper cracked necks, I'm not holding back. Here's a little bit of advice. Stop walking around
in those suits and ties, and just live your own life. Oh, I've got mine that were found behind these hollow walls
of doubt that made me stand my ground. I need some saving, oh could you save me. Oh, could save me. We feel this flood rushing over.
We feel this cold November winter when its sober like these eight months should've been. We feel the flood rushing
over when its cold and sober. Like this November winter we'll stand our ground. Sat back, watched everything change
into memories. Painting a storyboard frame with no color. Another heart attack on this basement floor. I threw my fists
at a concrete wall to find out there's so much more to these bloody knuckles than I had hoped for.