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Mod Flanders Conspiracy
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My 7th Grade Bus Driver Yells at Dead Trees
My Seventh-Grade Bus Driver Yells At Dead Trees
As I look up at the sky as she blocks my view of this As I get smacked down and I fall head first on the floor of your shrine I don't know which way to get up again I will follow her, I will follow her Stretched out on this bed of nails Hanging by this worn out noose tightening the grip around your neck The bloodstains on my hands are all I have left Never had dreams of my mown Sex has stenched all I know as I get smacked down And I fall head first on the floor of your shrine I just don't know which way to get up again Torn away from all that is real Torn away from what I feel, All alone hiding from others.
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