Tekster:
Clinging To The Trees Of A Forest Fire

Dust in my heart, blood on my hands. Five years I have been penitent. The penitent man finds his peace. These walls have seen my lack of dignity. These

every mass grave. When will it end? No one can answer that question. My end in the face of unemployment and every day at the office a battle I'll never

I see its face when I close my eyes head cocked to the left. Mouth open and unmerciful. Those were my last words. All of them. You swallowed them whole

A crimson pool dries in the Palms of my hands 1,000 Sleepless nights, 26 Worrisome years i've Bared my teeth And sunk them into the Flesh of my enemy

their skin so they could blend in at night I can hear them howling. I can feel their footsteps all over my soft spots. Years of degeneration. The hell of a

You have no pride, no sense of friendship. Thank you for nothing. I regret hearing your word. As false as the priest you condemn. A hand a gun the word

strength of an iron curtain pulled over my fucking face. The face of justice beaten and raped. Pig blood stains the cross, kill a cop, hang a judge,