I'm rubbing the right angle on a crucifix once more.
I'm looking in that window at you again you motherfucker. I see the bed. You're skin on the sheets.
My very own porcelain dream.
Girls trying to sneak in the fair, cops beat them down on their backs. Relinquish these hands from carving meat in the streets, miserable ham.
I live in a trashcan.
Track Name: Hell Money
Walking home from the morgue you'll find a new boy in a red convertible pulled off the highway on a desert road overlooking L.A. The contents of his pockets include cocaine. A rich man's war, a poor mans' game.
Track Name: Shapeshifting Evidence
You'll find me in the darkest room.
This city is sick of my name...this hell.
I love my job, I love my badge, I love my gun, I keep practicing. Pushing half of the brain through the back of his skull.
It's great, it's great, it's fantastic, it's great.