Текст песни Comadre - The Trials

It wasn't gravity, it was the witches
Make your fingers into pillars
Hold all the stomachs in this town,
They can't stomach anymore
The wood on these trees smell like skin now
And old fires are full of carpenter stories,
Where they push plastic nails through their smiles
It wasn't gravity, it was the witches
Just wait till they cook up a cure for ignorance