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Baptists
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Vistas
Arson of crystals
Drenched innards sing
Barter with boredom
Bleached at the seams
Dulled edge for training
'till the sharp one's in need
Doused with a primer
Painted 'till sealed
Aside from this blizzard of fuel
I feel fucking nothing
Scabbed cuts don't bleed much, you know
'till ripped off and opened
Pissed up on downers
Sunk down on paste
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Promising vistas
Discovered through waste
Aside from this blizzard of fuel
I feel fucking nothing
Scabbed cuts don't bleed much, you know
'till ripped off and opened
This padding I wear when I've found
An absence of distance
Our bodies aren't temples, it's true
They're bomb testing grounds
Vistas
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