Tekst:
Planes Mistaken For Stars Up In Them Guts

getting harder to stay sober, dwelling on the dim on this shine and you know I couldn't sell you a lie to save my life so it's up to ugly truths to scrape

little man, you scared little girl you're passing torches pissed out long ago so long ago choke this beast on the cord which it feeds (hand over fist, sew up

you learn to get fucked like that? little brother's eyes should be wide but his head's been filled with shit the sins of our fathers were stripped from them

I stared you down so hard I burnt your shadow to the wall and through the haze you served a slow pull from grace at a drunken pace I've nothing to sell

and these walls, they whisper and these walls, they taunt and they mock and these walls, they whisper and these walls, they taunt and they mock and they

we've watched the lines form in our faces and the smoke fall and break to code from our hands and a message missed was a message read we can never

see wich aninal me. And fifty of us spittin up that written stuff It's all the same! [? ] is the reason for cyphas prematurely spittin up. Ironic, phonic