>British mc'ing
In the club and it's shutdown
Shutdown
In the club and it's shutdown
Shutdown
Shutdown
>American mc'ing
Subterranean maintain own tongue mongst ruins
In subdued tones I speak of the flesh which entombs our inner core
Who the blessed? Invade airwaves type Moors (wars)
Sore from travels to unmarked thresholds, grapple truths untold lying in whispers it figures
He who snickers doesn't see final melody
Shattered splinters, melodic in their own unrest
Remind me of Osiris, made liars of us all
For 364 days I learned to crawl
Appalled by sense of urgency to resurrect the dead
Shed my last skin searching for angel with broken wing
Will she sing that e minor hymn? For those of us who sin?
For those of us who sin?
What happened ?
