Nothing left, feel alright, I think I'll play it down.
Pretty little strain, I can take a bus to school, you can tag a stride, your ride

And you're here and you're alive, and you're the untapped memory of another life
And you're huge as the sky and you're dropping satellites
I can't think of your face without cracking the bones in my hands
I can't breath through your lies and I think I'm off script again

Want your bones, want your face
Another time, another place
If your hands tell your bones
Bring it down, spill all over... spill all over

Well it seems that those survived 'till the end of the wave
Spit blood like a true general woman, wipe it on your sleeve
Come see with us that page and the blocking clouds your face
It's the monster at the end of the book, the battle at the panic of your dream

Who won that round?
Who won that round?
Spill all over, spill all over

Copyright: SC PUBLISHING DBA SECRETLY CANADIAN PUB.
Writer(s): Armistead Burwell Smith, Robertdale Rulon Crow