Sono tornati. E questa è Pariah King un B-Side, pensate.
It builds up, then it breaks down
It’s your perception alone
With your hand over your mouth
God forbid it gets out
The grey hands have got you in tow
But what can you do to prove it?
Look boy, there’s nothing to it
What are you really getting at when you sing?
It’s something wrong and beautiful
Kill a snake and make yourself pariah king
The voice bleeds through the wall, “no Jimmy no”