Birds of a Black feather stick forever and ever and they always remember you And all of the you do They pass it to the birdies and then they remember too Little baby eyes turn black Without the face of the guy in the mask When you see me baby you scream or will you laugh? Little baby blue bird, turn black
4 and 20 gory pantone black shredding innards The silouettes are fencing lefty Separating horn and hoof as own They piggy back the tombs of all your friends and neighbors By the image, green-cheese moon Dead-of-winter shit, tchk! tchk! shit, brother was a face card Crown a heart-shaped tunnel of woven branches leaning in over his hydro-plaining pace car chase... Wait up let me isolate the more Gate of god's Aim to rake the off each forsaken name here Supposedly closure'l free the vipers out the Personally I think it's a bunch of Prisoners, is for lovers God forbid he the witch against her coven on some dip or play the dozens Now I baptize skips in larvae and records On a plot pregnant with 6 million sentenceenders And the tech for tragedy's emphatically horrendous operators explaining what bated breath is Pass, I it were something I could diagram on a napkin so you won't feel so detached if it should happen to you privately Publicly your shadows'll cat back Happy to the button eye and burlap doll Crack the Bats eject like cousin death's wing-ed Iapdogs ricocheting of the sacrilege Now let me slow this whole shit for all you half-goat cowards even grit my teeth for you I am so off the god-damn grid it's not a question of addressing me, I T's "what do these under the dresser mean" Perhaps a little of karma chameleons through the entropy for good/young Could've a good lung Still, proximity to corpses wasn't nothing to the kid but unforgiving science or cinematic Fast forward, my knee in the gut of a "remember cow in the dean's seems awkward And I know your people donated pints to the same pavement but for ash and bone to share a with strangers seems outrageous, ain't it? Maybe a dialog of howls that reshapes and face somehow relates to whatever you have found among a thousand cloned shrines, either way - dope stone lion
And they to let you know your friend is dead in a box The crows the tools to get the meat out of the box Scientific, ritualistic, headstone cold foxes rot I'm not rot, no, fuck that snot You can let let you rot, man But I'm not to watch I'm not gonna stand atop plot I you friends, but I'm just not On the other if your ashes are scattered in the sea I will in the sea and you'll be with me And if your shit is at the roots of a tree I will climb that
you think you're hiding shows In the way you view the like a string of tiny thrones Messages tucked away for keeps has resurfaced to be heard amidst the butchery and beaks You don't want the to pass You want each cow taxidermy'd than the last Mausoleum is a rush it might enhance a silhouette it might expose a crutch A proud puffed to the heavens Holds nothing if we're cutting past the and the tendon And we will be cutting past the and the tendon...