I'm tired of all these fake backbiters
Their petty tongues can't ******* desire
It lies beyond these dives and old tires
Beyond the earth and the funeral pyre
Cause every pair of friendly eyes
Contains a knave, a *****, a spy
They salivate on the juice of your mistakes
Pry open your wounds, so they can smile
This wicked little town is full of dreamers
Local hopefuls, kind souls and believers
Also known as calumny beamers
Bankrupt spirits, synthetic schemers
So pardon me if my presence I detract
Rather face the Tree than a talebearer's fact
You curse my organs, my ornamental torment
So from the Shadow, I'll never look back
Humiliation is the purest ruse
It's all fun and games until someone gets truth
But these stigmatas will turn to bruises
And from this place, I'll be destitute
A real friend
Always gathers up ammo
Incase the end comes
Guess I never got the memo