| Dead lungs command it
|
| You pour your life down the rifle’s spiral
|
| And show us you’ve earned it
|
| Clerics fog will recede right before your eyes
|
| So long to this wretched form
|
| Them gray eyes on the subway
|
| Long before you were born
|
| You were always to be a dagger floating
|
| Straight to their heart
|
| Listen, now, we won’t tell anyone
|
| But you’re gonna tell the world
|
| This whole life ain’t been any fun
|
| Now your viscera unfurls
|
| As you rise, rise from your burning fiat
|
| Go, go get my suitcase, would you?
|
| You’ve thoroughly blown their mind
|
| And now I must have passage home your life’s
|
| Two veins from your heart
|
| You’re not invisible, now
|
| You just don’t exist
|
| Your mother must be so proud
|
| You sublimate yourself, granting us a wish
|
| Primitive mural on the wall
|
| To fortify your grim resolve
|
| Amid the glitz of a shopping mall
|
| Another grain of indigent salt for the sea
|
| Goodbye to this wretched form
|
| Oh, them gray eyes on the subway
|
| So long before you were born
|
| You were always to be a dagger floating
|
| Straight to their heart |