| Past traits and past leaps,
|
| it’s been strung, it’s been drawn.
|
| Gauntlet hums and knocks
|
| because it’s all runners all around,
|
| with never an urge for the gradual highs.
|
| We crack our own whips
|
| and make sure to break skin.
|
| We commit.
|
| We grow one with the crime.
|
| One with the crime.
|
| There’s no backroom deal to be bought.
|
| There’s no briefcase to exchange.
|
| There’s nothing held in your hands
|
| that we don’t know how to take
|
| and nothing in our eyes
|
| but purebred renegade sate.
|
| We crack our own whips
|
| and make sure to break skin.
|
| We commit.
|
| We grow one with the crime.
|
| One with the crime.
|
| They started tapping the lines,
|
| so don’t call and don’t write.
|
| Prowlers in us are the beacons alive,
|
| the bastion hooks
|
| that rend honor to the stable spines.
|
| We crack our own whips.
|
| We make sure to break skin.
|
| We commit.
|
| We grow one with the crime.
|
| Send a bleak aura.
|
| Send dirty water.
|
| Send instant wreck is what we do best.
|
| Spawn vanish.
|
| Preach malice.
|
| Rid closure in chance and digest everything sour.
|
| We grow one with the crime.
|
| We are one with the crime. |