Текст: Young Livers. Means Of Buoyancy.

The faces we have worn adrift the seas of acquaintance. The lies we can't control, smiling as we sink to the bottom. Tongue tied, we retrace the lines and cross we create. What's on more? The viscous ties initiate. Conquered, alleviated. Secured in meaning. Senseless and seething, torn. A hollow connection we have born. Misdirection guides us all. So where's the sense in the sense of community? The people have all worn lining the depths of the bottom. All tongue tied we retrace the lines we cross create. What's on more?