This is a song about "Sunburnt"

Service the discursive lurkers in the furthest mergers of a scary circus,

Bastard, hap hazardous track master, put a beat on and words become lavishly crass daggers/

Snap her adam's apple, have a laugh, and toss her off a bridge

Now money is a service, but it's worthless, there's no purpose, shit,

Secret service insurgents observe me nervously

My punch lines make you bleed internally,