Texty
Convulsed grip, upon that gun
Your impetuous style, is your only fraud
A service of lip, your source of fun
Your lingering smile, impassioned and odd
A hypochondriac hides best in anarchy
A confidence man, with the sins he doesn't see
The deceiver of life, laughing vehemently
This ride into hell is relieving me
Hysterical sham, a seething fake
You give a fuck, and that's your mistake
Pretending a troth, spasmodic aplomb
Overwrought with oaths, you're chanting this psalm
A hypochondriac hides best in anarchy
A confidence man, with the sins he doesn't see
The deceiver of life, laughing vehemently
This ride into hell is relieving me
A hypochondriac hides best in anarchy
A confidence man, with the sins he doesn't see
The deceiver of life, laughing vehemently
This ride into hell is relieving me
Writer(s): Phillip Brooks
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