Cave-In Ebola Letras:
All relaxed with nails bit to the quick while
golden was the silence, like a foam filling the
mouth of the exempt. The burdened saw the damage,
absorbed with our legs lost to heated white lies.
We remain to pull its frame from the ashen wreck
of anxiety, blown to conspicious borrowed attacks.
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We've got the nerve to live so low like this, with
nails bit to quick and teething blood so warm. The
man who keeps sewing needles between his teeth
prefabricates every spoken word, with no weapons
to lay in front of me. Robbed of my skills in
social weaponry, robbed. Impending was the omen,
no choice but to sever dead skin. You reap what
you sow to degrees you'll never know.
Letras: Ebola Cave-In [final]