a counterattack, lying face down on the floor? How do you expect to heed the call, blindfolded, back against the wall? Digging graves for the promised land? It
wheels for wings. Cranes loom like gallows overhead, and the setting sun paints the sky blood red. But outside it's exactly how I want it to be. We'
the wind beats against our hollow bones, we're only forced to run for shelter again. We're staring at different stars in the same night sky, and it's
their mouths about original sin again. Somehow we're similar simians, on a steady diet of carcinogens. We'll be the weathermen, warning of the black skies
ones with forked tongues have placed their bets. Their reliance on our silence marks the way that we will pay their debts. It's invisible and it kills
