There's little to contain the damage done now is there now as you're looking like one who just might want to offer a little help no help can undo the done can it. I swear as we offered ourselves to each other that fitful frightful expulsion into a nightdream daysweat it was hard to tell which was the rightful owner of what portion of that we both knew. You see us sitting in that yellow cab rain falling on mud-soaked streets of grime and souls ground down to the bone while no one notices us yelling punches thrown trying to hold them back they hurt not only the body. Souls are dying here. Barlights and street fights with the dust that won't remember squat while fumes howl don't dare say that he's not even your type while I'm festering with the memory of the sheet that we first knew. Long live the dead as they walk all over us in synapses that misfire the memory right on cue you watch that livewire emote is that really me or was I misremembering.