Текст: Comadre. The Youth. Slangin' Rocks In The House Of God.

We could build a city in a single day,
but in a couple of seconds we would try
to bury our regrets.
They don't make caskets like they used to, with escape buttons.
So grab my chest and slip your fingers
through my ribs, hold on to this blood machine inside
because its all about to end