Lyrics: Pageninetynine. Document #8. Life In A Box.

It seems to be cold in here
inside the empty head
of you, the end of you. when
you speak, your pink, pink snout
spouts out poison, and
wihtout a doubt they believe
in you... idiots, well i know, yes
i know what this about, i
have most definately figured you
out, behind your vile smile
there is more teeth then i can
count and a pair of hounds to go
with your lying again