---

Death is a secret when

we turn our backs.

Death keeps the fed

on their track.

Mind waits a reason as the dark

clouds descend

with a hat full of hate

he fears the end.

The flesh of our fathers

only lies for the

deaf - when money talks

the soul is dead.

You know how it goes,

young flesh surely

grows old - we hide

the bones.

We hide the bones

under our beds.

We hide the bones

- keep your head.

Would you come meet me?

Run reach me.