Ryley Walker - Clad With Bunk Lyrics

Clad with bunk
Ironworks inwards
If you ever need a friend just call
Any penmanship can be written off

Spare tire distilled
Makes one eye turn grey
A bed of lavender makes me cough
Can any watchword bury the top?

I was due disaster in Driggs, somehow I didn't fall off
I would like to think that I was saved by the way
The sun gets better in the flatlands
Man is better buried there

Twine in navel
Ghostly thread bleeding thumb
New craft inflates us all
Can any takers tear down a wall

Sunken favor
Floats in servitude
Days off at the night shift
Kaleidoscopes sockets ablaze

Immortal shit head with soft bowel problems
Finds god has smoked rock
Iced tea cans burnt in a bonfire
Littering is clutter is cruel kindness is bad betting

Pointing fingers with trapped hands inside
Sand is better served there
I take a glass of twine knots

I'm locked in a stogie with a ventilation jam
I think the fix is in bricks with stilts on a stand
Cop out for the break out, I'm a star on demand
In fact, I was given restitution with bumps on flat land

Carried in a cut thumb rotting from my hand
Crept on a light shadow married to fourth in command
Breath short from a chain smoke cooked in a beer can
Grabbed gallows slashing in the inner working stands

Clad with bunk
Ironworks inwards
If you ever need a friend just call
Any penmanship can be written off

Spare tire distilled
Makes one eye turn grey
A bed of lavender makes me cough
Can any watchword bury the top?

I was due disaster in Driggs, somehow I didn't fall off
I would like to think that I was saved by the way
The sun gets better in the flatlands
Man is better buried there

Twine in navel
Ghostly thread bleeding thumb
New craft inflates us all
Can any takers tear down a wall

Sunken favor
Floats in servitude
Days off at the night shift
Kaleidoscopes sockets ablaze

Immortal shit head with soft bowel problems
Finds god has smoked rock
Iced tea cans burnt in a bonfire
Littering is clutter is cruel kindness is bad betting

Pointing fingers with trapped hands inside
Sand is better served there
I take a glass of twine knots

I'm locked in a stogie with a ventilation jam
I think the fix is in bricks with stilts on a stand
Cop out for the break out, I'm a star on demand
In fact, I was given restitution with bumps on flat land

Carried in a cut thumb rotting from my hand
Crept on a light shadow married to fourth in command
Breath short from a chain smoke cooked in a beer can
Grabbed gallows slashing in the inner working stands