Guillotines in Arbour Park

Spitting venom with a forked tongue
And a tone turning roses black
No personality and no substance
It’s volatile and dangerous
It’s fucking sad
We make the best and run
The gauntlet of violence
Over-perfumed fucks who’ll never have
The privilege of friends
Who bridge every gap
Your hands kiss cheeks with fists formed
These hands were made to punch this fret board
Your hands kiss cheeks with fists formed
These hands were made to punch this fret board
Your hands kiss cheeks with fists formed
These hands were made to punch this fret board
Your hands kiss cheeks with fists formed
These hands were made to punch this fret board