TRAP THEM LYRICS

1. Day Thirteen: The Protest Hour

Panic, what the fuck did they to do you?
With false alarms, with bulletins, and death cards calling out the murder suits?
Someone, anyone...
Give the tremor his morning walk and buckle in the faulty legs of every faith in tyrant talk.
Stencil on the window guards the epitaphs of cycled costs.

Of humans on medicated regiments in every dilapidated dream that rockwell brought.
I caught up with time when he was chained to the wall of a cellar vault
And they had hung him up and fed him anti-coagulants and cut the bottoms of his feet.
And left him there to slowly drip into an incapacitated state.

He had enough left to look and call out his dealer's name,
The one who gave us drugs to take that never worked the same.
And then he looked into the sermon fates and whispered out my way, "come close...
The priests have ears that tell the blessed when to shine their fangs,
To sharpen their spears that'd lust nothing more than to fuck our flesh.
This is what they plan to do...
Kidnap all the newborn babies and banish all the rest.
They may have me here amongst rusted brakes and scissored veins,
They may have stolen rooms and loves from runaway hotels and numbered all our graves,
But no man of the state,
No men behind these laws,
No men of the holy fucking cross will drop me down on my knees, will bring us to our knees.
You and I, we die as bastards of black belief...
As the fucking deaths of godspeak."

And with that we spoke our battle lines.
As eyes rolled back and legacies were struck,
We sell our fiction souls,
Our quiet worth and bathe in bloods of sacred trust.
The throats of every leader grande and cold are there to be cut by our kind
And the frames of every worshiped build and murder front will burn retreat by us.

"So goes the life of the targets, so goes the life of the torchbearers..."

2. Day Fourteen: Pulse Mavens

Saw him get his death march on...
Saw him light the aisles with hidden handjobs sheltered from the masters' baiting crowns.
In overzealous crowds.
In undernourished sounds.
I know what you want, grey wanderlust.

You want to walk into each and every room and see a photograph that shreds your chest,
And makes it hard to see, but makes it worth it to breathe.

They don't sell it 'round here no more,
So put your shoes back on, and get your hopes all gone.

It's all come up wrong.
It's all come up unbelonged.

Well, if you want to stay 'til dawn,
I can tell you where the guns are kept and you can shoot your warning shots and hear the cries of all of those in debt.
Because you see here, beginner reconstructor,
We've planted fruits of labor/wrath that find themselves fully ripened on every passing bloody path.
And they are free to those who knew the names of crime design and love unkind.
They are free to those like us...
Those who've been left behind.
It's all wrong.
It's all unbelonged.

And the sadist air raid blares to faces in the tar as we murder the ghosts that held this town.

Saw the structures fall apart and raise foundations into forget city under exhibitionist regimes.
Stamp the hands, pull the teeth and kill the ones in need.
So I'll tell you, runner...I'll tell you you can live the life,
You can take your time and you can fuck 'til you feel.
But it won't break the bread they make, they own, they sell, they steal.
Because as long as they have bones to snap and grind into the welcome wheel,
They'll take your fix for another meal,
And they'll send you to the end of the line you can live your days like I've fucked my nights...
With a death march on our minds.

3. Day Fifteen: Citizenihilist

Get them propped and boxed, and fixed on forced remarks...
On haggard glimpse, on a primal blitz,
And meet me at the hole where the bodies are dumped in a glistening front yard.
Smell what I smell, taste what I taste.

Live the life of bygone bricks in teh stomachs of scenic waste.
'tis the minute of ours...

And bury us with our grenades underneath the steps of the running corpses.

They can erect their walks of fame while we suicide bomb every last pacified name.

Bring me disease.
And storm the cells bring me the virus.
And unleash hell bring on the fucking plague in the heart of the decade reign,
I want to ruin my life and die how I die...
With my hair on fire and the dust of my skin in the blink of a billion renegade eyes.
Fuck my health, and fuck our health.
Let's get desperate.
Now.

4. Day Sixteen: The Iconflict

Where they cast the cults was where we dripped our walking sticks
And we bit the suits of armor draped on every boneless body bound stripped and singed,
So ride us in.

All they ever had to say was,
"Madam / sir, please take care of the ones that never set a swollen foot out of this town and got baked alive by the sun."
They had set their working clothes out on the cardboard beds in the shacks and stands
That paid the rent of a million wealths while they pissed out all the demands.

So here we are above your grandest plans on trace,
And on call with our youngest firestarters lighting the rags in the alcohol.
Ignitor, this is where they left you.
Celebrator, this is where they leave us.
Let's see how long you drink to the narcotized brethren that provide all your elixir.

We shaped a color to deem your charge and it fit you well and it hit it's mark.
We fed the mouths that you shut for fear of the lobes that heard what they had to list
About subtle robs and unnoticed acts in the stores of the poor where will has prolapsed.
Warning hauled through the open air in your solid circle of well placed barricades.
You had time to shelter your collected owns and fall back steady on righteous roles you play.

So here we are, so here we've been.
So here is where we brand ourselves as the epidemics begin.
Here we hold the blackout rains the refusal hymns the death of praise and the rise of sins.
Here we leave our harm as we raise our arms to the march
And we fill the rafts all soured and ashed with the last of of the killing yards.

5. Day Seventeen: Wafer And Wine Of Sandblast Times

There were smelling salts that day,
And she was like him was like them was like us,
Holding plagiarized decisions based off backlogs of survival tactics in another phone booth founded on shattered glass and traffic stops.
And every one of those corner dives had quiet young teeth that were ready to spark the hidden cameras...
Ready to document the damns and fights of revolt built on a stolen dime.
And we all screamed,
"Nevermind the cops.
Just keep your head down and your eyes on your watch
And when the sky turns loud and your body shakes apart,
Give them a horror / sight of how the vigilantes march."
There was a halo of shock that night that surrounded the city halls, the statue stones.
It blocked the doors and gave up the roads to threats and running hostile codes.
Cadavers rose and walked out of morgues and looked for new ways to signal out that the hired guns will not work tonight.
That the mains will run wild tonight.

That the sewers' residents, the alley's inhabitants, the orders' vacants...

All toss their livened limbs into tonight.







TRAP THEM LYRICS