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Is it that they are fools?
Or are the eyes lying?
Are they to suffer most?
Or can it trickle downward?
Lock horns with Azrael
They are the myth, (and) they burn the sun
They are the outliers of life
They carry weathered burdens
And they’re known throughout (the city)
(so) When times are tough, they call on us
Are you afraid of time?
Or do you dread today?
Would you say you’re deprived?
Or could we say the same?
Names etched upon the rock
Phenoms within stoic psalms
We are the outliers of life
We carry teakwood burdens
And we are the luckiest fucks alive
(but) When times are tough, they count on us, they call to us
Give back the best part
Take back the worst incisions
Let go and respond
Call them blood now
They won’t leave it alone
It won’t leave them alone
The endless scrap of life
Lock horns with Azrael
She is a myth, (and) she burns the sun
They are the outliers of life
(and) They carry battered burdens
They are the luckiest fucks alive
(so) When times are tough, they call on us-they count on us-they come to us
