We stopped talking about flipping the earth
now this is the softcore version nearest to the one wanted
spaces between days are brainless spent singing
my head off. You see, cellar spiders
trace the shape of a life that is not life
and while I’m waiting
for the hole to become the sun time is running out.
Take my jaw into your hand be like a flame on water
So that tomorrow can be pure
the doctor had to die I destroyed him
Cover Art by Guilherme Bergamini
