Bread Pitt

from by Inhalants



An iron giant struts in fishnet stockings for the horde; a succubus in tights.
They're screaming for a place to rest. I beg angst, "Keep me up all night!"
Take a look, behold her dead wine, gold, and cold silk.
While my friends try to kill themselves,
they've been crying over having everything.

Her breasts are the minimum wage
they took the life from the eyes of the working man.
He sits alone at the end of the bar and he drinks.

Do you see him?
He drinks so damn slow.
From the glass of cold comfort
that's killing him so.

Spit on me, girl.
Piss on me, girl.
Because love doesn't come in someone else, it comes in paper.


from Promotional Content, released November 17, 2016



all rights reserved


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