
(S.M.F.) Obligatory Obsolescence
Aversion
Fit To Be Tied • 1992
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Lyrics
I'm falling through a hole, I dont know why I cant control myself.
How long the distance lies I'll never know, I'll never realize.
Behind the boundry lines the answer lies, but still I cannot see.
A way to fill the gap which hides itself inside humanity
The times I've passed an empty hand extended to my face.
And ugly portrait of a man, a life has ended in disgrace.
The hallow urchins march like soldiers up and down the dirty streets.
Doorway statues count possessions lying broken at their feet.
Man keeps turning back progression. I keep feeling that we're dying.
I'm falling through a hole, I dont know why I cant control myself.
How long the distance lies I'll never know, I'll never realize.
Behind the boundry lines the answer lies, but still I cannot see.
A way to fill the gap which hides itself inside humanity
The painted whores that cruise seductively to sell their
Rotted meat.
A transient's romance with a spoon, another body in delete.
Man keeps turning back progression. I keep feeling that we're dying.
How long the distance lies I'll never know, I'll never realize.
Behind the boundry lines the answer lies, but still I cannot see.
A way to fill the gap which hides itself inside humanity
The times I've passed an empty hand extended to my face.
And ugly portrait of a man, a life has ended in disgrace.
The hallow urchins march like soldiers up and down the dirty streets.
Doorway statues count possessions lying broken at their feet.
Man keeps turning back progression. I keep feeling that we're dying.
I'm falling through a hole, I dont know why I cant control myself.
How long the distance lies I'll never know, I'll never realize.
Behind the boundry lines the answer lies, but still I cannot see.
A way to fill the gap which hides itself inside humanity
The painted whores that cruise seductively to sell their
Rotted meat.
A transient's romance with a spoon, another body in delete.
Man keeps turning back progression. I keep feeling that we're dying.
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