And now, a word from our Sponsors.

Static glides through like a never ending echo in the steal case you call your head and the high beams may aswell shine like claws scratching out your eyes, giving you the fever. The blindfold is tight and I am the ink screaming to stain it, but tomorrow comes again again again as my voice has been long gone, the chords raw still in attempt to reach what only the clock can expose.