Paroles de Suffering From

In the direction of the blood that runs from a fresh cut throat, we run down. From the perspective of a dead man's eyes staring up at dead men walking tall. We face up to look down. We breathe out just to hear something else. There's a connection like a mid-air collision makes a point to kiss each other goodbye. By the looks on your faces, I bet you've never seen blood run this thin and cold. It goes down like ocean water breathed into the lungs, like glass swallowed and spit up.