ASG. The Amplification Of Self-Gratification. Crosses. Zeneszám

Drawing crosses on her skin
we saved ourselfs
set my standards tease your trends
felt the devil in her gears
and all the dead dogs that failed to cross her veins remain the astray
and the emptiness we filled
the cups of hate and torched her plains

drawing crosses on her skin
I saved myself
feeling up and dropping in
felt the devil in your gears
and all the tired tracks we laid across her back ramined the same
and the hollow sounds of blackened
clouds relieved your stagnant taste
I know I never promised a thing
and surrend ain't a part of your game
but honey I ain't taking the blame
you were the wind that set sail my sin
I reposes the consequence and take
just what I need... ten thousand feet of failure creep...
I'll bring you to your knees