God damn these shotgun funerals and the shit I have for your bloodnkid, you better wake upncause there's a thousand pounds of flaming wreckage on the other end of this car crash of a phone callnand who the fuck is gonna pay for your next good intention?nwake upnwake up with a gut full of bad pennies and ground up teethnjust stay down, kidnbefore they tape your mouth offnfill your lungs with concretenblack out your family photosnturn you out to the wolves of parts and labornsummer is definitely overnso god bless the sensory addictsneverybody; on the floornput down the phonenyeah put down the phonencause I'm your blackout artistnand god damn it suits me so well