Текст песни
It's out of my hands, been dismissed
The knife is on the ground, waiting for a hand
Like the mason walls himself in with nothing at the end of the day
It's a delicate situation and I'd rather not open (this) the blister
Silently we all wait for the roof to come crashing in
And somehow overruled has become and begun
I can't count the stitches from and since it was severed
I can't count the victims in my head
Never have I had a candidate so easily devoured
Not a faint drizzle of anguish
I have no real concern for my consumers
But I do prefer disassembly before the
annihilation of these pro's of emotion
What do you feel
It's out of my hands, been dismissed
The knife is on the ground, waiting for a hand
What more could you want
Only to forget that this knife is on the ground waiting for your hand