it's simple, it's disgusting how embittered that we must be to be free. there's a fashion in reaction how a calculated gasp can construct the perfect lie and bleed the meaning dry. oh, you bleed the evening pale, my love, to sustain your device, or rather your vice, oh you holy pretender. oh, you turn-coat defender. you wear the colors that suit your skin. your yellow belly, your crimson throat, blackened hands. you wave the highest flag on the hill, oh bring the rally forward! you bleed the morning grey, my love, you suck it dry and spit. your mouth cant bear the taste of it. so clean. the rising sun burning off the smell of dreams. you'll go down to the bar and sing and the pennies in your case will pour the drinks. they keep coming; your throat is a pit that leads to a fire at the end of it.