Ain't it easy running

Isn't it easy tunneling

Blood on my face

I'm crumbling

Witchita station

Rumbling

And places, places, ohh, faces

Osmosis, change me

My luck is black

And my soddered arms are wasted

Carving escapes

Around my threat anticipation

Fourth of july

I somewhat faked my suicide

How about it are you?

Lower my lungs

Fill my sandmouth

Fill my lungs

With the sand mound