There is a slowness on the throttle. Possibility at hand. Painted out of a corner. Brakes to bind the strands. . To decide within the bar store. Overshadows feeding in the lurch.
It's a full throttle train, an existential bane. It's only grays and blues when nothing else matters. It takes a strong will to keep it caged and still.
Written about to death. Around for another breath. The cops will run. The masses will flow. Killed by consolidation. Killed by saturation. The underground will correct.
Feels like drivin' 'round in a slow hearse. Feels like drivin' 'round in a slow hearse. Feels like drivin' 'round in a slow hearse. Feels like drivin' 'round in a slow hearse.
Hell untold is the price paid down on living. Tears have changed the way the days unfold. . There's a gulf that flows between. And the sea was wearing down.