The Plethora Project

The head hunters makes me sick
I guess their time is over
wash your face, put some shine on them, between us.

Drive the bomb to my head
Do I have any proof to save me?
Your recitation used to be perfect before.

Nothing easy is yet to come
Nothing wordless will fill your eyes
Nothing easy is yet to come
invest your trust in someone else.

State of hallucination
The cuddle-fakers broke the glasses
clean your chromed star that’s lying on the ground.