We survive by others' aching bones.
And we ride on every breaking back.
A network of sewers divide us all.
Only worth running rivers of red.
Severed hands of hope hold dearly to only what they know.
Still we close our eyes and always decide to climb higher crosses built to make us starve.
Get it straight, fill your heart, fix your head, tighten up.
Fill your heart, my friend. Fix your head.
Spirit always comes to haunt for this, and always this instant.
Get it straight, fill your heart, fix your head, tighten up.
