Foxes In Fiction Trillium Killer
Young world, misunderstood
Shooting sprees, shade from trees
Pain will dull, will take control
Hand turns fist, slight of violence
When the soil softens, softly decay
Come see my spot on your day off
When the salt's laid there, nothing will grow
Not like him, trillium
Not my problem, not my fault
The sun burns out, let the sun burn out
Not my body, not my mind
Falling asleep, missing my stop