Say— hickory woke my nose in shambles, when can we celebrate?
Fate— was a venture of the first, the worst century.
No— lick of the flames provides warmth and sorrow.
Stop— feed me when I want to eat in tomorrows, in tomorrows.
Signed— somewhere in Bethlehem 1989, it was so awful, it was so awful.
Fine— go on and feel me die right in your arms. It was so awful, it was so awful being there.
