Testo 2003

In the end whats left, wont be your pretty hair, or your fake breasts, or your fast food, or your slow death, all the rallies and all the marches, all the fireworks and all the garbage, the politics of hate and your so called friends, and ill stop now if you know how this ends. Last chance to dance and then slip away, no love, just sex, the american way. Were going down now, were already dead