What is the hyperbolic trajectory
If no more than the flowers of language bloomed elegantly from the tips of your lips
So too the ink cuts deeply as the soul is raised and bleeding
To the taps of the ravens and crows at the window come morning

Who is the Lord of song
As the threshers push through wheat and into the blindness of another year
And who but my father as mother brought violence into the hearts of the dead
When they should be raised and dreaming

Myspace Crunk, Shitty fucking vocals
That's the what we're tenin

Who is the Lord of song
As the threshers push through wheat and into the blindness of another year
And who but my father as mother brought violence into the hearts of the dead
When they should be raised and dreaming

Oh, fuck, goddamnit
I wasn't supposed to read that
And i cant get anything right at all
Cuz I'm a fuckin machine oh oh oh

Myspace crunkcore shitty fucking vocals
It's a fucking cold coldWar
It's a fucking cold coldLord

Of all the ravens and the crows of morning
I see I see I see the men in the fields when they drop to their knees, I see
Sun in their hearts is like pressed from an angel
No more for the anger, there
Moving the fucking dumb blind orb
Human, so human, to bathe in that mind was there

Myspace crunkcore shitty fucking vocals
It's a fucking cold coldWar
It's a fucking cold coldLord
It's a fucking cold coldLord
It's a fucking cold coldLord
Oh it's a fucking aaaaaah