Testo di Forgetiquette

Half a pack of cigarettes mostly broke or bent I think of cancer as I put one to my cracked lips that long to slake this poison lust Voices spin and resonate inside This old phone booth shelters me from these lonely streets If only god would grant me strength to call you Just three words could help me slake this poison lust Esoteric memory you're an eyesore now Grab your handle twist your blade deep in my wound