Walking through injury distance collapses over vague selection.
They are cutting our scene.
No reason or rhyme for what they do.
Scoffing at ammunition.
The evening goes on like a script.
Out and out.
Access behind and outshined. I
njury breaks through walls as the curtin falls.
A-Z arrangements of the exits we have made.
The closing lines are listless in décor.
The evening goes on like a script.


Lyrics submitted by billabong_punk

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