| Through the gray,
|
| Through the black and white,
|
| Something is hunting you down.
|
| Something red, made of teeth and claws,
|
| Made out of hearts.
|
| Little boy, made of meat and snow.
|
| Melt and become what you are.
|
| Little boy, feel this growing storm made just for you.
|
| All these homes,
|
| Windows like dead eyes.
|
| Empty lawns like empty graves.
|
| Dead boys and girls, rise.
|
| Dead boys and girls, rise.
|
| Shine.
|
| Little girl, made of hair and pearls.
|
| Wake up and make yourself heard.
|
| Little girl, feel the shifting world.
|
| Make it spin, make it burn.
|
| All these homes,
|
| Windows like dead eyes.
|
| Empty lawns like empty graves.
|
| All these homes where you learn to die,
|
| 'Cause they forgot how to live.
|
| Dead boys and girls, rise.
|
| Dead boys and girls, rise.
|
| Shine.
|
| Claw through the soil.
|
| Claw yourself out of this inherited tomb.
|
| Dead boys and girls, rise.
|
| Dead boys and girls, rise.
|
| Shine. |