Days are numbered 6-6-6
And I'll begin the countdown
By calling off the circus
somewhere in these
Cryptic scriptures
I'll find myself drifting in a sky
Full of...

Scars they cut into you
Blisters rose colored hue
Mayday we're going down
These mescaline memories are morose
Your kerosene company is comatose

Our days are numbered 3-2-1
And when you bit the bullet
I held the smoking gun
Somewhere in these
Violent volumes
I'll find myself drifting in a sky
Full of...

Scars they cut into you
Blisters rose colored hue
Mayday we're going down
These mescaline memories are morose
Your kerosene company is comatose

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
Instead of waiting
Carving out your own

Scars they cut into you
Blisters rose colored hue
Mayday we're going down
Follow we went around
Scars they cut into you
Blisters rose colored hue
Mayday we're going down
These mescaline memories are morose
Your kerosene company is comatose

See also:
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