Texty:
Crime In Stereo Selective Wreckage

This empty space becomes the lines inside your face. It makes an atlas, tracing an accurate map of decades. They decay and fade away to form the crease

It could be simple I could be simply not enough Just come around girl Give me a chance To talk me up

I am the twenty-two year war of the third Intifada. I am the faithful, the grateful suicide bomber. A daily hajj to a dead end job. Brave to give faith

I heard you spent the last six months at an unpaid internship and still then got the news. They had to cut you loose. Profits wearing thing. Since you

"Boy, you've been staring some...consumed in the science of the dark." I was following the light from the crimson ghost on your arm. She said, "There