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Cut Throat Lane
03:26
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More scorched Earth/ The soil she ate well today,
Consumed by rain/ my narcotic dreamscape,
The silhouette of a suicide/ Echoes shared pain.
The ghost of a wooden man/ a bitter taste.
All we’ve got is chemical/ beneath a concrete sky.
Suspended dreams/ Suspended to escape.
Reassured by sirens/ That we should be afraid.
Drunk on a class A decay where they cry themselves awake.
Drunk on a class A decay Where they cry themselves awake.
This was the feeding place/ of the animals.
The airs still thick.
The stench of abuse, her horror fills my lungs.
It takes me back. to where I grew up.
My world. Was a funeral.
My life still haunted by the same old ghosts.
By the same old,
By the same old ghosts,
By the same old,
By the same old ghosts,
The airs still thick.
On cut throat lane, where we all grew up, Inside, the horror she drones on.
The post war dream/ just another nightmare, Children of the decay, we still cry ourselves awake.
On cut throat lane, where we all grew up, Inside, the horror she drones on.
The post war dream/ just another nightmare, Children of the decay, we still cry ourselves awake.
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Jonestown Brighton, UK
We are Jonestown, an exercise in stupidity and the acquisition of dreams sold to us by engaging ourselves in too much TV at an early age. Convinced that we're talented or special, when the painful truth is, we are not special. In the realisation that we are not special we came to find we were angry. Just like us our music is not special but we can assure you it's angry and honest ... more
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