LATE YOUNG
I was raised
in the place of the bloodless births
where the cigarettes are longer
than my fingers
i still cut my nails to the knuckle.
Yeah!!! Death! Satan! rye bread! believeee! Check it out, Late Young
We bring you the sounds that crash to shore, to wash over you at night
LATE YOUNG
I was raised
in the place of the bloodless births
where the cigarettes are longer
than my fingers
i still cut my nails to the knuckle.
Yeah!!! Death! Satan! rye bread! believeee! Check it out, Late Young
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