No Title

Half-dead

Worried about nicety

Too many bullets in the neck

Worried about money

Nothing about what's your feed

The pressure cooker

Exploded

Now take this

Plant in pots of hypocricy

Melted heart

Makes swords

Now take this

And plant it in pots of hypocricy

Things that grow in the gloom

Things that grow after washing blood off fingers too many times

Now take this

And plant it in pots of hypocricy