In Honor of Spooky Season Istasha (Ft. Depth Strida)

[Verse 1: Istasha]
Serrate that cunt with your bitch blade
Running like a semi but you radiate primadonna
Slit at your wrist but you still make
Shit, with a [?] at you wanna get a run up
Do not wanna miss, when the hit's transmission
Depend on your reason you missing the pieces
Stuck in your prison no shit
I can't keep waking the [?] parcels
Standing leaving nothing but a dark abyss where shapes go missing
Disconnecting fuckboy statement [?] distance
Screams and shivers fear resisting
Never taking part in what I can't see, I speak deep roots
High dimension, crashing past I ride increase, don't please me
Far from my intentions

[Verse 2: Depth Strida]
Bodies on the porch, gone
Crash it's crimson dark slaughter
It's my only sport I regard it as resolved
That's what you get for talking shit
Get a body [?] clip
[?]
Mercenaries is the best, I pop your head like it's a cyst
Strida killing demons, spooky season I'm awake and you be sleeping
This dimension is out of place
It's a pit of fucking snakes