Vultures in the Grass

Vultures in the Grass

Out past the fence, the soil is black,
Built by hands that never looked back.
Every prayer drowned out by the rain,
Now the ground keeps score, remembers the stains.

No saints here, just the heat and flies,
You look at him — there’s nothing in his eyes.

Vultures in the grass, sun sinking low,
Same old shit in a brand new hole.
Something close got daddy’s grin,
Feeding on the silence we’re living in.
Vultures in the grass, sun burning low,
Rust-bit wheels turning slow.

Brothers fighting over a patch of dirt,
Calloused fists, deals that always hurt.
Mothers press their palms to the earth below,
Watching the fire burn down to a glow.

No saints here, just the sound of lies,
Nothing left behind those eyes.

Vultures in the grass, sun sinking low,
Same old shit in a brand new hole.
Something close got daddy’s grin,
Feeding on the mess we’re in.
Vultures in the grass, sun burning low,
Engines whining under smoke’s dull glow.

The river drags our wreckage down,
Carries the blood, the shells, the guns.
We built this grave with our own hands,
And joked while it swallowed the land.

Vultures in the grass at sundown,
Every fight looks the same somehow.
Something close got daddy’s grin,
Still feeding on the mess we’re in.
And somewhere close, a figure grins,
Feeding on the quiet like a long‑lost sin.

Listen—
You can hear it laughing in the dark.
Somewhere.



Discography

Albums

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Singles


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