You are gonna be food for the crows
Yeah, rotten meat for the dogs
I will drag you out behind my car
Until your tendons give out
Someone's gotta suffer so this can live
But I hate you, I hate you
We were born in blood
You will give me your life and
I hate you, I hate you
The sand will stick to your dried blood chin and
I will keep your thirsty tongue in pickle brine
Your children will have medicated hair
And will never see the horizon from here
Their remains will join the plastic floe
Their bones sun bleached and smoothed by the wind
The third studio album from self-proclaimed "prunge" artist Kevin Nichols; delves into the perils of depression and anxiety. Bandcamp New & Notable Jul 6, 2018