Party Full of Martyrs

Beholden, their Des Moines rules
It's a gut to bruise my sun
You own mine

Beholden, their Des Moines rules
It's a gut to bruise my sun
(It's really not a cut to fall off)
You own mine

Tune my hot fuse, my nefare
to come up

Underwellian to think of their 'demure'
I've crackers in the cooler

To hear him spiral through his mind,
It's so hard not to find him
(I shudder to tell him of my transgressions)

To hear him spiral through his mind,
It's so hard not to crumble

I find the tincture drawn away
From my hands
And I laugh to learn
To know how to dance again



Credits
Writer(s): Riley Nix
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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