Kalisk — PHEREKA

Burn the doom-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doom.
Sun beat it, man, it's fun to leave it, boss right.
Dust from it clouds and a crack on the side.
Well, dear, spin like a vent fan wire.
See him for a while and a tea pan quiet.
Old man sells soup but it can't light him.
I'm one note every single night.
Low, low tone with a broken grin.
Sound cut clean, straight through my brain.
Me freeze one.
Set when the beer slime breed.
Like the road it sells that dark beneath.
Thin roof shake and the sharp glass sing.
Old city pulsing a copper string.