Funeral Diner - My Fist Smells Like Graveyard

claim your place as victim in the perverse knowledge of something to fall back on with hands held so loosely as i pour the water through so many times i tried not to wonder conflicts avoided words mumbled under breath. truth buried out behind a face that advantage taken with no thought to rectify when the well is dry, they will reattach themselves and again the face smiles but not to mine