Twenty-Nine Dead Horses
Five years of work and I'm still not fed
I've got teeth falling at my feet
Send the letters to lost souls
Flip the coins in between your fingers
Take down the institution
Abandon your intuition
Five years of work and I'm still not fed
And I hope you die for the same reasons I die
Because we're bastards
We'll die separately for sure
I hope that's the way
And I won't celebrate a day for you
Writer/s: Brian Joseph Wilson, Jason Edward Cieradkowski, John W Fesken, Joseph Mario Centeno, Mark T Townsend, Thomas Edward Barrett
