| In you, no passion bleeds
|
| A shell that’s thin and withering
|
| Did you misplace your flame
|
| In pursuit of a new hell to help you heal or burn the same?
|
| Dedication makes a martyr out of me
|
| While you’re afraid to offer flakes of skin
|
| Your fire dies, dependent on the embers I provide
|
| Shield your blaze from beads of sweat
|
| No servant
|
| No servant of mine
|
| Turn your back and flee
|
| Bending over backwards to be sure we watched you leave
|
| No servant of mine
|
| Turn your back and flee
|
| You are not owed more than the shoulders you have burdened
|
| Contentment breeds in our disintegration
|
| Like bitter pills digested by the sick
|
| I wish you luck and hope you’ve found your medicine
|
| Pray that it kills you quick
|
| The chase has clouded your perception
|
| Beg to be buried in the sky
|
| Dependent on the embers I provide, your fire dies
|
| The same mud buries both of us alive
|
| And still you search for different shades of dirt
|
| No servant
|
| No servant of mine
|
| Turn your back and flee
|
| Bending over backwards to be sure we watched you leave
|
| No servant of mine
|
| Turn your back and flee
|
| You are not owed more than the shoulders you have burdened |