Dust collects on the distance runner
Did you wake up to feeding trees to the machine?
A rib shown on your pig bank
Your profits of slowdeath dissolved off into electric bills
More blood in the bucket of what?
More blood in the bucket of...(what?)
Your deepest debts
And to the fair fair bank of america
And you would mention time between the yawning black behind your skull
The rushing of your mouth around your boots, drugged in luck of your wound
To every morrow the sting of gone pilasters
And you're hollow beside a side of rent cheque
Oh yeah, ladies and gents
And fools like us we go nameless to debt
Automatic tragic addict
Highest muscle on the rock, wishing you weren't so
Simply stomach and one shelled all out em and chasing
All by your lonesome with a hand drawn map
And some old age
And some old age
Anywhere after now
Needs near to the roof of your voice
Lost heavy on the tongue of death suggest rest
Have you hung
And be delighting in your heights on pause
Still out em and chasing
Ill by product of the killing dream
Awoken by the sound of whole tree tops being fed to machines
Still the automatic licking quiet in the constant tether
Of your many sticking and still stuck stuck stuck stuck
Panic buttons