Arson of crystals Drenched innards sing Barter with boredom Bleached at the seams Dulled edge for training Till the sharp one's in need Doused with a primer Painted till sealed Aside from this blizzard of fuel I feel fucking nothing Scabbed cuts don't bleed much, you know Till ripped off and opened Pissed up on downers Sunk down on paste Promising vistas Discovered through waste Aside from this blizzard of fuel I feel fucking nothing Scabbed cuts don't bleed much, you know Till ripped off and opened This padding I wear when I've found An absence of distance Our bodies aren't temples, it's true They're bomb testing grounds