Our days are numbered 666
and I'll begin the countdown by calling off the circus
somewhere in these cryptic scriptures
I'll find myself drifing in a sky full of scars ,whoah ,
Scars they cut into you
Blisters rose colored hue
mayday we're going down
These mascline memories are morose
Your kerosene company is comatose
Our days are numbered 321
And when you bit the bullet I held the smoking gun
Somewhere in these violent volumes
I'll find myself drifing in a sky full of scars ,whoah ,
Scars they cut into you
Blisters rose colored hue
And I would sick up half of my cold eye
to set you on your head
If I were you then I would memorize
this loose lipped lullaby insted of waiting
carving out your own
I'll find myself drifing in a sky full of scars
Scars they cut into you
Blisters rose colored hue
mayday we're going down