| Disconcerting feeling has opened my eyes
|
| For the very last time
|
| This faith stirs an echo
|
| I hear amongst the safe and perfect waste
|
| A slow fear still creeping in
|
| Invasive and persuasive like a whisper
|
| Softly convincing me to move on
|
| Lay waste to all the tangible explanations
|
| Nothing’s as it seems
|
| Spit out the words to this question
|
| The validity of my future faults
|
| Carving my intentions
|
| With this blade of distinction
|
| Digging deeper still in my skin
|
| Twisting slowly, opening the wound
|
| Spit out the words to this question
|
| The validity of my future faults
|
| Spit out the words to this question
|
| Where do I begin?
|
| This line scored from ear to ear
|
| Telling a tale of exsanguination
|
| These immanent fingers pressed against my neck
|
| Bleeding out the destruction I command
|
| This calm stirs an echo
|
| I hear amongst the sacred perfect waste
|
| A slow fear still creeping in
|
| Invasive and persuasive like secrets quietly convincing
|
| And missing the moral in these eyes |