Strip a man's nerve off.
Serve it for breakfast.
This is the time to be totally reckless.
War on the muddled and the utterly feckless, inaudible or pitch-corrected.
I saw the void at the center of God.
It forced itself on me to their applause.
I laughed in its face and dove off the edge to be fused in a mass with all my dead friends.
It's literally a form of brain washing.
They'd literally slit your throat with your kids watching.
Left side.
Right side.
Same recruits.
None have had a taste of the serpent's fruit.
Huffing exhaust to deaden the threat is the closest to a hit that you'll ever get.
Beta-drone sadists out to buy respect.
Spend my days in the sticks, so verklempt.
Activism, the new pissing contest.
Restrict my views to be strictly honest.
Those who feel they're just a touch off-kilter, sing the damn song if you have no filter.
Heck yeah, I just spent three minutes whinging.
Left inteligencia cringing.
Red moon-face aged by a grimace.
Vein popped forehead.
Varicose visage.
Wasting careers trying to earn respect?
I'd rather be the only band active left.
I'll beat this dead horse until it gets angry.
Its death throes are going to feed my family.
Writer(s): Maxim Adam Bemis, Darren Charles King
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