runnin’, thinkin’ without reason
playing in dry season i can’t keep ‘em
i flea with them, hold them and die-
for them
no ones aggression understands
but i hold back, i’ve got this
smell the abyss, understand that maybe-
the blood trickles, i’m fickle
whisper, just listen
it’s that simple
as i hold my knife and hope that one day
he’ll miss ‘em