

Our WayIronic despair is a common tongue Amongst the virile, rampant young.Our Way
But he is still not getting what he wants. There's something missing in the warmth. A cold hand resting on his wrist? The soft bite of an insult cutting into his flesh.
We might be consumed by darkness If it weren't for all this light.


Shrug and smileFlip the shadows, mask the players, June, July winters might bring shiny slayers. And the soft cheese that melts on your tongue Is buttery soft, and lifts your heart and your song.Shrug and smile