you know who's seatbelt - the bled

The signal flares will light the way to the scene of the accident, where
we'll dance like a pile of teeth in a broken mouth. Such a sick celebration.
Everyone loves a fucking tragedy in epic proportions. Lets set our hearts at
self-destruct. Like scarlet drips on a white tile floor. A cardiac
metronome. We'll scrape the guardrail from our teeth and start again.
There's a flood in the infirmary where we'll swim through broken glass. Our
prosthetic limbs will keep us afloat. Lets set our hearts at self-destruct.