Keep the cold drops in your pocket
Come in handy to fake sorrowful moments
Standing in a crowd creates the worst solitary confinement
Wicked hearts dug up from the graveyard
On pickets, bait for the hungry wayward
Fog so low, hazed, evaporated into pupils
Relieving the red hot, blood shot, what a clear head
Carrying shovels on their backs
Eat the dirt they shower on you
Sand between your teeth, bleeding gums
Warriors with sharp axe pix instead of guns
The ravenous never sleep
Blood thirsty they want their keep
String em' up high and watch the angels weep