Flatline connectors guide to this house, this home For bread and dead water and a place to call their own A billion bottles of the bristled ice and fireflies To ride the times of wrinkled waste and crystalled eyes And wanted advice of the god-soaked wine While the weapons hit the family trees, the fatals got out of their cars On early lifts On blood-soaked scenes And you scanned the globe for safety zones to hide your children while thunder screamed and lightning struck the trophy wives and the father guns I've slept in your burning beds, I've stood in your family rooms, all stacked with priceless heirlooms of those worthless roots and skeleton lines And together with your doppelgangers, we got on our feet and I crept in back of each and every one with piano wire in my shitty hands One by one On and on The others lost their throats The rest just lost their minds We don't know where we are, we know it flows in the protest hours And on and on runs the god-soaked wine