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i am the jack-o-lantern's dancing lightburning alone, setting fire to the biteand i have heard them screami have heard them shout,"everybody out!"everyday behind a smoking gunfacing that rich fucker's only sonscreaming in the nightthe street lamps are brightlike happy, little stage lightsin the cold, dark corners of los angelesi'm living off the sweet taste of the president's pissdo you think i want to run?you think i wish that i was done?baby i'm just having fun.up above is a cloud of smokethink, dark, and greythat isn't drifting awayand everybody knowsthere will be no fire hosecause this time everything goeswe are dying slavesLetras de cancionessinging love songsfor rich white knaveswe are the center piecefor fucked up familieseating on christmas evebefore the fathers leaveboy you better hold your tongueyou do not want your familyto know your dumbkeep track of allyour little precious lieswhispered in shopping mallsto keep the spirits highand the morning she is coming arooundmaking loud but beautiful soundsand your hands are bloody, broken, and bruisedand yes, she sees you a thousand lieswill noy keep my hand from the door so close your eyescause you dont need em anymorei've met kids like youand i know exactly what you'll doso dont give me that shitcause i've had enough of iti know i'm not a bad kidi know what's coming for meand i know what isn't happeningand i know that i've usedthe time on my handsand the words on my mindfor some pretty terrible thingslet me tell youthat what you dont know will help youso keep your eyes on the groundand don't fucking look aroundbecause they wont put you in a cemeterythey'll throw you in the riverplastic bags will carry not a wordnot a shivershe knows she knows she knows she knowsbut that won't keep the exhaust pipe from the hoseand everybody knowsso it goes so it goes so it goesthe world is easyto understandfrom the backseat of a rental sedanriding the comfortable, warm wakeof your father's brief but beautiful breakthe powerful displaycasts its shadow on the merritt parkwaythat wet cement is gonna dry up quickand those yellow broken lines, they're gonna make you sickso come with me now,to the hot blockwe will write our nameson the sidewalklook at you, liquidatori'm your hired gunyou're my curatoryour screams are high pitchedand beautifulwhen taken out of contextthe purple sky outsidegives off cold, dim lightas it covers the nightit reminds you of waking up, half-asleepand lazing in the car with your familypassing the oil wells up and downdowntown, a ghost towngliding over open groundto climb on a planeand be delivered some place far far awayso think about that little kid,bit your lip, and lower eyelidsthink about that little kidbecause it's all over now, you can't change what you didwe're all just a little emptybut still happyeach one of us a tiny aftershocka chip off the block, a ticking clocka friendly competitionwho can get the most fucked up.are our fists as tight as they will ever be?we'll all have to wait and see. From Letras Mania