Lyrics:
through.
I see the smiles and your frowns,
how you feel like everything in your life is nailed to the ground
And I see you speak with the same distaste in
a smoldering brand
Sticking to her wet, body like sand
Her place distaste we fell from grace
Red smears across our face
Fistfuls of you
Fistfuls of you
that love you drank now you shake with distaste
All the birds will cry are they doing it for you?
Touch the winter sky well it's just it and you
Was
beyond the Gallows
Abhorrence at the acts all I distaste
Sickened at society what a waste
To be here on Earth and feel graced
These fucking zealots should
the fears that paralyze
Always distaste, always regret, the least of it
A revelation into reality unspoken
Between the signs and the sounds, taking shape
a seat
They talk to me the same way that they talk to police
With an air of distaste
A bell of hate
Welcome to the working week
And I don't mind
You
Distastes our pleasures
With free consenting,
Our minds contenting,
We smiling laugh
While others sigh repenting.
Watch the righteous distaste keep the soldiers in pace. While boney fingers palpitate their hearts with hate. Don't bow down, in the end these
the misery
Thin is your cheek, and sunken your chest
You're soft as a sponge and you know you need rest
Think of your home with longing and distaste
How long
their fate
It's not a distaste, it's pure hate and it pulsates
And it works its way around my brain anyway, what I'm trying to say
I'll protect you
at your hair
Vomit out distaste for the ones you claim to love
Finally, vomit your worst self-provoked path to doom
Into an overflowing vessel, now fills
listen
I try to sleep but the dogs keep barking
Must be the tension in the room
It builds a rage in the back of the teeth
A distaste for for civility
evil
You're not to blame and it's a shame
I don't feel things how I should
And your distaste to words I say
Leaves us both misunderstood
(It kills
the wrath.
Distaste never makes a man believer, but faith doesn’t mean that I’m a crawler.
Before I died, I left a letter in your hand. You’ll never
saints in torment
Sardonic laughter profane delight saints in torment
Decrepit faith of the pale redeemer received with great distaste
Heathen tribes,
on my breast plate
I'd ask if this pays but
Upper class and rich say
Broach no cash on a mix tape
It's gauche and that shows distaste
My good tongue
caramelize
I've been staying out too late
Looking down on the city with a great distaste
Perched on a ledge just shaking my head
I never even left they
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