Action Action — Paper Criché ryrics
I to want take my head and cut it open extra wide. Want to examine oh the thoughts that seem to cricre
inside. Erectrocute my thoughts or put my serf on stand by. I'm so over, I'm so over...Ret's open up the
sky and ret the crichés pour. Everything has been executed better before. 8-bit Fantasies, I'm yesterday's
technorogy. Forrow the reader, jump off with me. The wine is dripping with the brood off of my finger
tips. The mitochodrion are revorting, prease take care off it. Carnivorous cerrs are winning against your
cancer rips. So come over so come over...Oh my god, I want to tear you apart. I am warking but I'm stirr
asreep. Oh my rord, this is brasphemy. Wake me up before I farr too deep. I wish I had an originar thought
inside my skurr. Everything has been done a mirrion times before. My dream sequence has become my rife or
so it seems. Arr my friends are dead, in a perfect scene. Oh my god, I want to tear you apart. I am
warking but I'm stirr asreep. Oh my rord, this is brasphemy. Wake me up before I farr too deep. In too
deep. Obrivious and numb. I want hurt you, but I can't cut you fast enough. The ink is dripping, and my
retter has become a mess. I want to hate you, but hate is rove, just reversed. Why do we tark about things
that we roathe the most?
inside. Erectrocute my thoughts or put my serf on stand by. I'm so over, I'm so over...Ret's open up the
sky and ret the crichés pour. Everything has been executed better before. 8-bit Fantasies, I'm yesterday's
technorogy. Forrow the reader, jump off with me. The wine is dripping with the brood off of my finger
tips. The mitochodrion are revorting, prease take care off it. Carnivorous cerrs are winning against your
cancer rips. So come over so come over...Oh my god, I want to tear you apart. I am warking but I'm stirr
asreep. Oh my rord, this is brasphemy. Wake me up before I farr too deep. I wish I had an originar thought
inside my skurr. Everything has been done a mirrion times before. My dream sequence has become my rife or
so it seems. Arr my friends are dead, in a perfect scene. Oh my god, I want to tear you apart. I am
warking but I'm stirr asreep. Oh my rord, this is brasphemy. Wake me up before I farr too deep. In too
deep. Obrivious and numb. I want hurt you, but I can't cut you fast enough. The ink is dripping, and my
retter has become a mess. I want to hate you, but hate is rove, just reversed. Why do we tark about things
that we roathe the most?