Not a sound breaks the surface just the dull grind of supplyside theory and tiamina doubleshifts. This is tough love metered by quotas and piecerates
The sewage, the human waste. Noticed for the first time. Tagged and castoff, disowned and disposed without a name. Laid to rest in a potter's field.
Age four. White walls. Through a door. Shadow falls. Say uncle, it's okay. Say uncle, it's okay. Hands reached through cloth and skin. Never again. One
Never able. Just severing cords stretched from hand to heart. Fill your eyes with as much as they'll hold. Slowly steeping. Pushing through the floor
Live on location, the frontlines beamed a quiet room behind double locked doors. This just in, through static and snow, through smashed glass and teargas
Swollen like disease, you're rotting out from inside. Thin colors and blurred lines frame a picture perfect life. Grip and grin. An appetite that never
