Lyrics
En vault.
Prosper-termed,
spoken like an innocent plain.
Passive and practiced in all goes the one in the same.
Because to me,
and the mirrored beneath,
it's the violence to see
and the miles to receive.
It's all "and"s and "so"s,
picking at scabs
It's all "and"s and "so"s,
picking at scabs and gaping whole.
The eyelids awake
duress like made
reminding of trailing laughter
in the league of the least.
It's all "and"s and "so"s,
picking at scabs
on every throat by every fray.
Stray of the tongue speak the violent ones.
Stray of the tongue speak the violent ones.