| With qualms that I speak
|
| of the wrists I have cut
|
| By flooding the tubs
|
| where the warmth held below
|
| The lockets believe
|
| that the secret of love
|
| Has caught its own tail
|
| and it just won’t give up
|
| When I breathe
|
| the heavens can’t hold me
|
| And I can’t believe anymore
|
| The light breathes
|
| the highest execution
|
| Show me the wings I must cut
|
| In your left of days
|
| these are desperate graves
|
| Give me the alter
|
| let me shine
|
| The pendulum won’t wait
|
| If I slay your spirits
|
| with twin covent vaults
|
| That weakened your knees
|
| in the pit of my palms
|
| Dressed in the slurs
|
| of bovine engines
|
| To feast upon the carcass
|
| of your mother
|
| When I breathe
|
| the heavens can’t hold me
|
| And I can’t believe anymore
|
| The light breathes
|
| the highest execution
|
| Show me the wings I must cut
|
| In your left of days
|
| these are desperate graves
|
| Give me the alter
|
| let me shine
|
| The pendulum won’t wait
|
| When I turn the dial
|
| and leave the gas on
|
| I’m the matchstick
|
| that you’ll never lose
|
| These are the splinters
|
| made from a single blade
|
| I’m the matchstick
|
| that you’ll never lose
|
| I’m like the key
|
| that locks you in
|
| I’m the matchstick
|
| that you’ll never lose
|
| When you wear the burning
|
| of all my ferns
|
| I’m the matchstick
|
| that you’ll never lose
|
| In your left of days
|
| these are desperate graves
|
| Give me the alter
|
| let me shine
|
| The pendulum won’t wait |