High Above The Streets In The Company Of Cowards
Cold By Winter
Take, look, touch as you please,
My history is dead, youll follow me into my disease
My friends are socialists and dancers,
I have decorated my body,
With tattoos connecting me to,
Endemic peoples
What you live through they claim to their own land at price,
But it means nothing.
Nothing
Take, look, touch as you please,
my history is dead, youll follow me into my disease.
Am I lost? No,
Find a place in this diatribe,
But I have read too many books by French authors,
Who proclaim,
Your formative years teaches you, produces you
product of langue,
But it means nothing.
Take, look, touch as you please,
my history is dead, youll follow me into my disease.
This track is a unit within a system of signs,
this music and life style,
Take, look, touch as you please,
my history is dead, youll follow me into my disease.
My historys dead (x3)
Her storys dead (x3)
Your hardcore is dead (x3)
Historys dead