Text:
Gatsby S American Dream Ribbons And Sugar

It?s a broken house: bloody handprints on the wall, ghosts out in the hall; that?s where mama lives. I can still hear her calling out my name. Singing

truth has been realized they'll destroy you so what now adapt and fit in to this system no, learn the language of this tribe walk among them and in

or should not stay. What ends up on the cutting room floor? Apparently, it?s not my, it?s not my choice to make. So here?s another one, is it good enough

eating from the trough again stuffing his mouth with glory biting the hand that feeds him because he thinks he's worthy absorbed in his deceit the lies

[Instrumental]

artificial prosthetic hands are sympathetic but i'll put and end to this i can't keep fighting, do i have to keep fighting stop breathing it's not