Из альбома: The Unspoken King
Your thin lips, curl, into a smile,
Which seems so bitter
Your eyes glitter, as the nectar flows
Your foresight, must be, 20, 20
For your timing, is pristine
You seem to have, chosen, the right seat
Consume, reap the benefits,
Of your, hopeless ignorance
We have, nothing left to debate,
You are, a fucking parasite
You seem to find, satisfaction,
Within, the affluence of all your na