Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song How To Get Bigger, artist - Made Out Of Babies. Album song The Ruiner, in the genre Пост-хардкор
Date of issue: 31.12.2013
Record label: The End
Song language: English
How To Get Bigger |
Streets are wrapped, |
childlike faces smooth and blank. |
firm young flesh, |
hung with paper crowns. |
pull me up from where we are, |
the big keep getting bigger, |
and their hearts keep getting harder, |
an imaginary game, |
eating at every living thing, |
a wide mouth dripping with sarcasm, |
a bloody fat slash grinning over, |
bleached white-fang teeth, |
that glow like green warning signs of sickness, |
taking for your kind, |
and running with you winnings, |
they’re just running with your winnings. |
staring ahead and hearing, |
voices saving useless things, |
about how to be better, |
about how to get bigger, |
it’s your knight on white horse, |
turn it all around, |
the world is just for you, |
but you don’t want to take it, |
ah — you must be useless! |
and you must be lazy, |
have enough then, |
with insipid grins, |
that swallow hard and |
Bear. |
Big. |
Burden. |
this place is getting tighter, |
and all around the angels scream |
and close the gates of heaven, |
a division of the ages, |
try to swallow wings of traitors, |
robbed of being really human, |
And the voice drip with sarcasm like |
bloody fat slash grinning over |
white-fanged teeth that glow like green |
warning signs of sickness |
and running with their winnings |
they’re just running with their winnings |
Big are getting bigger and |
Hearts are getting harder |
An imaginary game, |
eating at every living thing, |
a voice dripping with sarcasm like, |
a bloody fas slash grinning over, |
bleached white-fang teeth, |
that glow like green warnings |
warning signs of sickness, |
but little things add up |
a barbed-wire fence of stiffened spines |
broadcasts violent death through flashing blinds |
look at their faces |
Keep it all inside. |
if not, we’ll all go down together, |
a coward’s crawling death, |
the paper king’s big dinner. |
look at their faces |
and down into their eyes |
and the vacant, glaring, certainty |
of nothing, ever, anywhere |