Waiting for Black Metal Records to Come in the Mail - Demo

What has become of us?

White ceilings, white skies

Did you know a star can swim a thousand dark miles

And never see the floor again?

Back against the wall on these last days

But we knew it would happen anyway

You drop that pitch-black pall

Over us, one and all, again

Propel your national machines

Giving us all the disease, but not the vaccine

One thousand tiny lives

Disappear into the black stretch

And I guess I thought I would feel something, but I didn't

But I didn't, yes, that's a myth

And you drop that pitch-black pall

Over us, one and all, again

Propel your national machines

Giving us all the disease, but not the vaccine

And I would give anything for a cool glass of water

Without this poisonous oil

No, it's never gonna be good enough