The whole towns slippin down a hill.

Like the spine of something dead.

Slide in shadow cobble-creep.

Burn your mark and leave.



The trench conventions yellow eyes

Follow her the local flower

The girls a priest (to me at least)

Since baptism peroxide.



And fear is not respect. Correct.

But it's the best you're gonna get

Sharp blow to the bridge of the nose

Sharp blow and anything goes.