SPECKLES ATOP HIS HAND HE TELLS ME,
!I CAN'T HIT MY ARMS ANYMORE.
I CAN'T EITHER
PATRON SAINT OF DRUG TRAFFICKERS
OUR DRIVE INTO THE CITY
STOMACH ROT AND SWEAT BEADS
THE DRIVE HOME SPEED ***** AND
DREAMS
YOU'RE NOT TRYING TODAY BROTHER
AND TOMORROW IS OUR DEBT TO PAY
DO WE NOT STAND WHERE GREAT MEN STOOD
AND DISSOLVE IN THE BURNING LIGHT
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 9:32 PM UTC
SPECKLES ATOP HIS HAND HE TELLS ME,
!I CAN'T HIT MY ARMS ANYMORE.
I CAN'T EITHER
PATRON SAINT OF DRUG TRAFFICKERS
OUR DRIVE INTO THE CITY
STOMACH ROT AND SWEAT BEADS
THE DRIVE HOME SPEED ***** AND
DREAMS
YOU'RE NOT TRYING TODAY BROTHER
AND TOMORROW IS OUR DEBT TO PAY
DO WE NOT STAND WHERE GREAT MEN STOOD
AND DISSOLVE IN THE BURNING LIGHT
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