Texty:
Young Livers Of Misery And Toil

feeds in the shallows. Heavy of our tongue lay these words onto you, and it?s obvious: It?s nothing but sound. We push and we pull, And if we don?t

us now But what was the reason? And as we churn to writhe and wallow and twist into grins, All vacant shells of expectations grown barren and thin And some have known and

and common to these years And punctured through the teeth These trickled words fall on their own, Oblivious they?ll be untold. Wilting in these ill past perceptions, Debilitate and

the looks on your faces, I bet you?ve never seen blood run this thin and cold. It goes down like ocean water breathed into the lungs, like glass swallowed and

the core. Fain into this squalor and agitation, it?s where we rove. It?s veiled now in your patience It?s nothing but remorse Failed as we have become and

Constrict and contrive as to derive that it?s a sure bleed out, in hopes of reaction. Inward, replace and collide as the warm runs cold and collected

it feeds in the shallows. Heavy of our tongue lay these words onto you, and it?s obvious: It?s nothing but sound. We push and we pull, And if we don?