These Arms Are Snakes Lucifer
Open positions and sing songs of love
Then repent against yourself and swallow your own foot
It stinks like fermentation and it's your brain
Because it's just like the past which I cannot forget
It's just like, no
Shallow old rotting stiffs that live in some graves
Perpetuating throw backs from said such old graves
It's just like, no
I hold aspiration, in a key
I count the tickets, oh, I count the tickets
And I hold aspiration, it's in a key
I count the tickets, oh, I count the tickets
It's just like fire
