Whiskey Is Alright in Its Place But Its Place Is in Hell - Fear Before The March of Flames

I am the street peddlers miracle juice.

Do I hear?

Do I hear?

(Numbers) Buyer in the balcony section

Sold to the vampire and his lovely

establishment.

If integrity were a wooden spike

we’d all be fucked.

Push the corpse into the gutter.

We’d say to one another.

These smart-ass children had it coming.

These clones drone along to their power

chord medleys.

This is our lives watched by the auctioneer.

If we’re going out to dance they’re pissing

on our disco halls.

You’re up for sale.

The plan of action is upsell.