Out On The Farm
by The Nerve Agents· from Days Of The White Owl
1, 2, 3, 4. You've got your hand in torture. 5, 6, 7, 8. How does it make you feel? The mind slips, slips, slip, slipping into the darkness. It is lifeless. The air is thin here and grim here. Drugged up, caged up, piles on inhumane. Insane, so insane. Out on the farm, no happy songs. No happy songs, just torture. Devoid of feeling. Who, you or them.