Instrument
Ensembles
Genres
Komponistar
Utøvere

Sangtekst: Ninety Pound Wuss. Junk.

The need to realize
Shot, shot, shot, blank
Staring down the barrel of my arm
Shot, shot, shot, dead
It's over drawn black
Shot, shot, shot, red
No restrictions
Sucking eyes inward, immobile

Bionic continuity
Till death do us part