Testo: Young Livers. Of Misery And Toil. Suffering From.

In the direction of the blood that runs from a fresh cut throat, we run down.
From the perspective of a dead man?s eyes staring up at dead men walking tall.
We face up to look down.
We breathe out just to hear something else.
There?s a connection like a mid-air collision makes a point to kiss each other goodbye.
By 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 spit up.