Luddite Clone. Oratory Of A Jigsaw. Zeneszám

When the teeth can hold back the gears when the stitches are all that hold
the scars together and the
lakes dry up like deserts is that when I will have my way when there is
nothing left to savour
I am sure that's how we'll be petty to the last drop broken to the last
breath damned till I fold
into quarters