All nestled in its digipack, hugged by glossy cardboard, ready for the cold nights with its snappy shrinkwrap cardigan. This isn't a CD, it's a fashion statement.
Includes unlimited streaming of Tough Mitts EP
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I know how you think
I know how you die inside your selfish prison
Victim of your lack of vision
Banish all your doubt!
Cast it out!
Your head, and all your heart, agree
If never king, better off dead
I'm trying to break you down, and you're
You're trying to say yes, but
You don't know how to face this now
You don't have to bow
When I say: "Come to me!"
When I say: "All Hearts Bleed Red."
Know that man's a fake!
Faithless cad, he suffered for his false admission
Won his fame, forgot ambition
Your fortress is your clout
And yours is sound
Don't settle for the rights of men
When gods invite their next of kin
Look at me, faith, touch me
Don't falter, blade's hungry
Steal, quick now! Light's breaking!
Blood washes, cowardice stains thee
Blood on our hands, we'll be drawn and damned
The love of the plan killed the love of the man
Death is our wage, we'll be peasants yet
To hell with the changing of lust for fair play!
Blood on our hands, we'll be sold as tramps
All life's a stage, we've strut our last parade
Out, out, damned spot!
I'm prepared to be a villain, but not a repentant knave
To know you's
To control you
To hold you's
To scold you
To fold you up