None of this has changed, when we all look the same.
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Addicted to the one that left you, we can't forget you.
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We colonized in war, predicting many more.
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Addicted to the hand that fed you, you can't remember.
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Your color. I wonder...
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The more trouble that we get in,
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The more fun if we don't get caught up in it.
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Prefabricate that skin!
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Help me find out, if this is all predictable.
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Or is your troubled fate, relentless in it's ways,
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Destroying all your days?
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(These words coincide!!! Self-taught suicide!!!)
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-----------------
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The Hol[ ]y Tape...
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| The Fall Of Troy |
