The Acacia Strain

See You Next Tuesday


Imprimir canciónEnviar corrección de la canciónEnviar canción nuevafacebooktwitterwhatsapp


I said run, and you won't be able to see me
Because you'll be bleeding from the eyes.

The thought of your genitals makes me sick
And I bet you could fit five cocks up that ass.
Why don't you just strap a mattress to your back?
These are the last days of the rest of your life.

Next time I want a better excuse.
Dropped like a bad habit.

These are the last days of the rest of your life.

I wash my hands of you all.
My slate is clean and ill be smiling all the way to the bank.

Face down, ass up.
I want to destroy something beautiful.
By the end I want everyone dead.
By the end I'm going to be the only one standing.
Not even your children are safe.