Trap Them

Malengines Here, Where They Should Be

LYRIC

Past traits and past leaps, it's been strung, it's been drawn. Gauntlet hums and knocks because it's all runners all around, with never an urge for the gradual highs. We crack our own whips and make sure to break skin. We commit. We grow one with the crime. There's no backroom deal to be bought. There's no briefcase to exchange. There's nothing held in your hands that we don't know how to take and nothing in our eyes but purebred renegade sate. They started tapping the lines, so don't call and don't write. Prowlers in us are the beacons alive, the bastion hooks that rend honor to the stable spines. We crack our own whips. We make sure to break skin. We commit. We grow one with the crime. Send a bleak aura. Send dirty water. Send instant wreck is what we do best. Spawn vanish. Preach malice. Rid closure in chance and digest everything sour

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