Runaway کے بول

Cut me into pieces and bury into the ground Till’ I hear no voices, or a fucking sound Music’s fucking dead And leeches everywhere Fucking faggots singing trash I hope that this won’t last Honestly, I like it What problem brings me your silliness? You can’t see this is gasoline burning my knuckles Feeding my mind I try to ride my own world Where we get no concern Cuz’ in these fucking times I feel There’s nothing to do Runaway, runaway