Commuters, Pt. 1 - Coilguns

All of them, single parts, were designed to fit in abstract cells of a unique

building unorganised and obsolete, programmed to habit their aetheral void of

spleen paradoxal universe, infinite dead space with tents or shelves as walls

and ceilings _

Run, go to these places and meet the ones we’ll let down

Set our camp, we’re the hunters of their continuous space

Weapons of our own, new tactics to shar, we evolve in thir world that never

changes

Datas in highways, messengers and pages, we read through the lines that we’re

missing the faith

Trust our engine and drive the way that distances us from their ever setting

days

Bail

Run from the towns, the ones we were belonging to, go to these places and meet

the ones we’ll let down (x4)