The Guilty -

The line has been crossed in the form of a blade across your throat.

Blood for blood, bucket by bucket

We’ll paint this place fucking red.

Everyone’s a fucking victim.

There’s no way out from this place.

Where do you go when death forgets you.

You have no place to call home

Experience desertion and solidarity.

For every action there’s a consequence.

You thought it was bad before

There’s no more progress.

Redemption ceases to exist.

Disease has covered the weak

The guilty walk the fuck alone

No matter how hard you try

You cannot wash this

Blood from your hands.