This Routine is Hell
uncommon ground
Untie the knots of wasted years.
The rose is grown by released tears.
Burn the hometown. Destroy the crown.
Open the cage. Learn to let go.
In the wake of a long dispute weâve grown old, we slumber.
Passing time when the time passed us weâve grown old, and hungry, always hungry.
And though the battles between us friends have been long, we long for something more than ordinary.
This beat takes us to uncommon ground.
- :
- Howl