suppose it's quieter now. You can't hear the wails enswarming? Well, that's a gasp of relief for this small room. God, just think of the stress if they're sated. Don't tend to the herds at thy gate. All the parlance in the fields - it's a tempting charade. The guilt gnaws worse in through all the sorry.
So, no, we won't deal anymore. The pull of the faith, the bait of hope, tore through this road. That clawing outside? Why can't we simply turn back tides?
Bring the mouths to the door - it's enough to turn cold. With the hands open palm, it's the blood that turns cold. I can't.
Don't feel like you want to. Don't meet their eyes. Don't seem like you want to. Don't act obliged. Don't feel that tide's pull like you want to.
Written by: Chris Alfano, Greg Kuter, Matt Lupo, Seth Rheam
