TITLE UNKNOWN
• Written by SPUUUNGE
TIDAL FLOW SO HIGH YOU'LL DIE ALONE
FLATLINING INSIDE OF SOUL
TIL EXPIRED LIKE FINAL HOPE
WITH TINITUS THE DIALED TONE
YOU'RE DRIVING RIGHT OFF THE ROAD
every time you're on the phone
you get ire and explode
like a fire in home
you get higher in your tone
really wild like cyclones
with desires to expose
those you've dialed with a show
of un-kindness you impose
sending vileness that's wove
with the kind of shit that's spoke
to a spineless little dolt
when they're trying insult
loading firing assault
barrels rifled with a bullet
inside it for your dome
like a tyrant without soul
just the type of criminals
that would like to kill and maul
end your life without vote
an entitled miserable
twisted parasite that grows
through your mind and into bones
stripping life applying ohms
with electrifying jolts
like a prison riot grown
but to sit and try to hold
those who pick up lines of phones
with such grip is quite low
chose decision try it slow
you're so quick to fry 'em whole
like a ignition's fired coals
on their skin you try to scorch
within thinking why at all
before sending giant bombs
like anthrax inside of homes
why instead not try loan
them a little tiny hope
in a simmered kind of tone
not just spilling insides whole
with a heightened risen bold
pissed off violent bitter vocals
designed to pick a bone
like a fighter in the dome
cause you'll find this isn't known
good advice to mend what's broke
it'll end up quite a toll
in a giant dug up hole
and the light'll dim below
of the line of the threshold
that your sight'll need but no
you'll go blind no glow at all
just a void full of nightfall
to the point that you might fall
get a broken spine that's all
twisted so it might dissolve
into hopelessness like those
dinner items of the orb
as in spiders eat you whole
when the web aligns your soul
and you're kept inside its pull
then digested in the cold
when the parasites take hold
as the terror rises slow
you'll buried by the host
