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about
"Could this be one of them there B@@BY Traps?? Eh, could be!"
lyrics
Flippant foot soldiers align the great divide
Hands mold pinnacle peaks on the equator
We daunt dawn with our fingertips
While we do our best to greet her
So final, these backwards glances
Like thunderous, mute, battalion horses
Shifting their feet to a drum
A brutal cannonade
Lazy days, like faint whispers
Develop in shadows of the drizzle
We succumb to the sour hour
That envelops our blue skies
Groveling, misanthropic ants
Align in unison to carry
The remains left behind
Under God’s radiant sun
Diluted, pestilent philanthropists detach wires
That connect the interior to the exterior
The pages that line the books
The codes that break the codes
But we are left here
And we are silent
credits
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