Oh, hysteria is calming me down.
Shoot you to the ground, shoot you on the ground.
How slowly the second hand ticks
it’s the antics of the slippery conscience.
It’s weighing you down.
Oh, we’re running in circles,
running through the green,
running into the grave.
Slippery slopes won’t bring you certainty.
It’s not the magazines that drip blood from her lips
or curse the gun with your fingerprints.
So, keep your worried mind at ease
and free your body from the disease.
You’re running down the slippery slope,
blurring the discrepancies.
So, please keep all your guns
safe at hand, understand that I don’t want any of your demons
treading down around me.
If jealousy is a gun then I’ll shoot it straight out at you.
Infuriate your body, infuriate your mind.
Get you cold inside.
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