Shatterday

Our days are numbered 666

and I'll begin the countdown by calling off the circus

somewhere in these cryptic scriptures

I'll find myself drifting in a sky full of scars they cut into you

Blisters rosed colored blue

mayday we're going down

These mescaline memories are morose

Your kerosene company is comatose

And when you bit the bullet I held the smoking gun

Somewhere in these violent volumes

I'll find myself drifting in a sky full of scars

And I would sick up half of my cold eye

to set you on your head

If I were you then I would memorize

this loose lipped lullaby instead of waiting

carving out your own