People say it doesn't exist. 'Cause no one would like to admit. That there is a city underground. Where people live everyday. Off the waste and decay.
Unsettled hearts. Promise what they can't deliver. Bring me the wine. And the cold night air to clear my head. Gray matter memory house. Master of this trembling flesh.
I'd heard rumors and I'd heard talk. About the trail you'd left of broken hearts. About the sea of tears too wide to cross. But a little bad press has never scared me off.