Off The Beaten Warpath

Lock up your guns and count the cost

Carve up the soul, buy back debts still foaming with froth

Blank stares for the logic so deep as the sea can see

Second handed stories crisp on ends that flutter up from flames through trees

Dog pile into the ashes of hometown sweethearts turned inward, and downward

Spiraled lives intertwined, dinner for schmucks lit by neon flights

Relentless ego pulses for a breath of fresh air, despising the days with small beginnings

Future proof that fatal attractions have come and gone

And all that's left is the cynic bound on endless holidays

We cut our teeth in the hollows of garages damp with the death and life of the funeral ancestry

Fresh blood to be spilled against foundational methods of aura farming

Foundlings of ghosts that circle the lighthouses torn down in panic

Now adrift on hostile waters, while hosting this season's drowning parties

Loaded on shock rock and rotting junk

Fishing for certainty in a sea we can't afford to be

Souls who owe too much to stay above the piss and vinegar drink we serve to thee

Absent deaths in hollow identical musings

Deny any parts unknown gathers the residuals

Bite that tongue, hollow out your words

Friendlier fires come through here every now and then