A slow assertion, now dissolve into nothing.
So slit our throats, slit our throats with holy atmosphere.
Outside it's cold, so it must be all good now.
Of sole importance, a holy, holy atmosphere
Fist full of coal won't dissolve into nothing.
But feed our throats, feed our throats with holy atmosphere.
Our side is growing up, growing out, growing out of here.
I don't believe that everyone lies.
Holy, holy atmosphere
Let's see where your conscience lied...
Let's see where your conscience lied...