I Never Got What "Finish Him" Meant in MK
THe battlelines are drawn, and the eyes are looking past the corners. There's no reading betweent he lines here, cause there's no voids to fill. No minds to drill, no bodies to kill, no lives to thrill. It's just one on one, but there's always a handicap looking to interfer. As he's leering, yes he's leering. And you can hear the whispering, and the blank shots of fate knock you right in the face- stumbled... now stumble. I"m crumbling up like the crums of the mess you made onto the ground, spinning around; now it's affecting the frowns. It feels like a warzone, but it hasn't heated it up, but the temperature is enough to stir things up. So get off the stage and run for cover, cause we don't want another, no we don't want another victim-of-each-other. But however this is just an examination, of the viewers' procrastination. And it doesn't seem so routine to be a killer. So how does it feel may I ask, when you're the only one holding the flask, and it's empty. It's empty. No one to pass it on to. It's hot potato and you're the only passer, better wear thicker gloves next time. Cause you've crossed that thick line, which means you're assummed to make an attack. But for some reason by defense isn't in tack. I'm trying to run from this battleground, but the motions you make cover all around so I'm stuck. I'm stuck. Just like you with the flask you still have in your hand. And its still empty we can see, so pour in it a bottle of glee. It's better than the wiskey you've been drinking. But yet, don't get me caught in this mess. I cannot counted on. I'm a son of a gun and you're the only one left to pull it yourself.
(free lancing is my orgasm)
(free lancing is my orgasm)