This Routine is Hell
nostalgia
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Dirty hands, blistered feet,
playing in the sun but now weâre feeling the heat.
Summer in the suburbs, safe and sound,
knowing what itâs like: nostalgia brings us down.
Nostalgia burns.
Weâve roamed the streets, always out of luck.
The glory days, but now weâre sobering up.
Scraped our knees to the barren ground.
Itâs only skin, but nostalgia keeps us down.
Yet we still raise our fists to the heedless skies.
We piss on god, our ethos never dies.
Nostalgia burns.
Nostalgia hurts.
Nostalgia flirts.
Nostalgia fucks us up.
- Álbum:
- Howl