Lacing the shroud of the city together. This city, this city is dead. Blank faces and too many drugs. Let's fuse everything, why not. Tie them all together.
Nothing is pure.
Only me and that is because I have felt sighs that fall from my mouth and have become the only person that feels. So I can appreciate retribution, I guess. This is why I was a whipping boy. The whipping boy. The somebody down your street who is punished for someone else's skeleton in the closet or selection of bones in the bottom drawer.