The Devil Wears Prada - Reptar, King Of The Ozone

Bring it to your lips and experience
the sulfur infect, everything
that we've created.

Don't twist this around,
don't attempt to justify, what we know is wrong.
Tendons are torn and screams are released
into a poisoned, mathematic atmosphere.

We're composing our funeral songs,
note (note) by note (by note).
We're composing our funeral songs,
note (note) by note (by note). With this I declare that tomorrow is an allusion
into a poisoned, mathematic atmosphere.

What if the clouds are fragments of mistakes,
fabricated by the factories of our foolishness,
foolishness?

We're composing our funeral songs,
note (note) by note (by note).
We're composing our funeral songs,
note (note) by note (by note).

Prove me wrong,
prove me wrong,
prove me wrong.