Cyanide Suicide

Fried, we fly upon the heated pan and fucking dive in sin again, indeed - it's fucking ugly The feast upon the misery, we live on a crowded cemetery of dreams Our prayers, they never reach our gods Silencing Every whim - It's like asylum Nay, we won't give up Won't give in till break the line here Cyanide suicide hits the run Cyanide suicide is for fun Chased by ghosts of bleached and wasted past we lurk in underdark, dead inside and fucking ugly Accommodating vanity with mental infertility: that's all we've got and all that we deserve now Silencing Every whim - It's like asylum Nay, we won't give up Won't give in till break the line here Cyanide suicide hits the run Cyanide suicide is for fun Plan? - Keep sticking to none Fun? - It's better than gun Pain at the station remains Feel it: All hope is gone Feel it -am malicious, am I gorgeous? - well I'm a mother fucking hypocrite Feel it -it's malicious, am I gorgeous? - well I'm a mother fucking hypocrite Now. Come get it now Now. Come get it now Now. Come get it now