Wet hate hands admitted
And through dead nails
All splitting sand underneath it's strychnine
Winds that change are never seen

Beasts that back to the wall and cry
Best of the hopeless never die
For gods' sake forget to speak
Miles of what you've got to eat

Terminal, the playgroup says
Off to the side with an average
Blaming the dolls like heretics
Apostles or inebriates

Hold on tight,
We're going to wake
Laugh to death
For pities sake

Framed for crimes that are never sold
Lies and secrets never been told
Look just like the two of us
Standingat the terminus