Horoscopic amputation honey

braid your sins into its mane
and kick it to the county line
shake your chains cold and loose
there's nothing safe in your stars
in and out of sleep even with the rise and fall
pulled the mattress out the window
laid out under the smoke rings
and the funnel clouds
shake your stars bring it down
sad sad complications
buzzing like a worn out fret
we'll cut our hair and fake our death

silver harm sugar hands drunken hive
amputated years are growing back a new shade