Tekst:
Christiansen Stylish Nihilists

My Blacklist: If people don't dance they die Cathartic hand claps Dependent on words without sounds In the bitter end goodbye Fire paint at the canvas

Melt out of breakdown hits, they make our fingers break yearning to attain a new hole and make a living in it Style's out of control Can I turn it now

These past years, we've said so much that's unclear Let's look into the mind's realities I'm there, except I don't have long hair The Frankenstein implied

1983 in the year of our lord The Camero's kickin' The photograph it melts in his hand He's going faster Age 18 with the cute blonde curls The devil's

A million lives prepared to die Is it a song? The battle's on We take these drives and wonder why is it a song? Music lives on The taste of wine, piss

A burned down old barn where someone was king White washed city halls surrounded by the proceeds Old woman janitor, whose wishes are gold Forget all