| Fear, a feeling, is it real? |
| So nostalgic too, it just puts the dark on you
|
| Another sand down, the hands of oil are peeling
|
| And from the sun, restraint to just throw the shade on you
|
| Another cell now is a chance to, is attempt to, and is trying to recall
|
| But you’re never going to touch me
|
| And if I ever manage to get out, it’s all this waking life… just drags me down
|
| A life spent uneasy, in pieces, always in pieces here
|
| A life rent completely, release me away from fever dreams
|
| Fear, a friend, without context it’s reeling… you're never going to pay enough
|
| to do right
|
| The veil is a thread and now it’s raising like the tension of a string that
|
| just plays the note high
|
| And if I ever really make it out it’s all this waking world that drags me down
|
| A life spent uneasy, in pieces, always in pieces here
|
| A life left, release me away from fever dreams
|
| You’re sleeping in the glass room, in the glass house is a memory now…
|
| is a memory to me
|
| Don’t you know this shift’s real?
|
| You move to lay your body down, the hands of oil are like some small machines
|
| Never knowing how to feel, pushing air inside your tired mind and sleeping it
|
| Trapped in fever dreams
|
| A life spent uneasy, in pieces, always in pieces here
|
| A life rent out completely, release me away from fever dreams |