Ken Mode - When The Car Crashes

Cleb footed monarchy, latch your teeth to the rines. Forcibly plastooned, big dog makes thin ice. Rines for grape gravy, a sealed fate. Washing the weight of the ruins proves lumbered. I held you to it. Those words you spoke. Sliding, weak, enhanced in beauty. Feed me spiders, deserting misdemeanour. Lost old rules, children please.