The signal flares will light the way to the scene of the accident,
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where we'll dance like a pile of teeth in a broken mouth.
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Such a sick celebration.
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Everyone loves a fucking tragedy in epic proportions.
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Let's set our hearts at self-destruct.
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Like scarlet drips on a white tile floor.
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A cardiac metronome.
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We'll scrape the guardrail from our teeth and start again.
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There's a flood in the infirmary where we'll swim through broken glass.
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Our prosthetic limbs will keep us afloat.
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-----------------
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You Know Who's Seatbelt
|
| The Bled |
