| Yeah, yeah, that’s the one
|
| Plastic city
|
| Picture box, service screens, static
|
| One, two
|
| Yeah
|
| Conspiring in secrecy
|
| My ghouls drag chains and exchange theories on other spooks and black books
|
| Sad souls known to grab loose and handles
|
| They hypnotized by the truth, horrific daily news
|
| Ears ringing from eerie noises, anti-vessels make the loudest
|
| TV hosts invading living rooms like haunted houses
|
| Spewing words without content, spoken out of context
|
| I breathe deep, inhale the sweet perfume of the dead
|
| The ghosts that haunt my spirit hide amidst some petty showers
|
| To purify the self I throw my fears in burning fires
|
| Desperate times call desperate measures, but situations dire
|
| Tower over furnaces unburnt and demons cower
|
| But the world spins, or it seems to
|
| Watch the heavens wonder if the gods and us can be equals
|
| Stars circle the planet, like followers to Akaba
|
| Universal in breath directs the flow of prana
|
| I’m folding cosmic sagas in the gallows
|
| Where my shadow reigns supreme
|
| Diana with the bow, the protectors of all thieves
|
| Still, beating hearts bump chests and leave static on the screen
|
| I live in frequencies, where strange schools of sorcery meet
|
| Turn it on, turn it off, turn it on, turn it off
|
| May the rhythm bring peace to your bubbling heart
|
| Find the inner space of night, the most cosmic of sparks
|
| The firefly that shines like the sun and lights up the dark
|
| Turn it on, turn it off, turn it on, turn it off
|
| May the rhythm bring peace to your bubbling heart
|
| Find the inner space of night, the most cosmic of sparks
|
| The firefly that shines like the sun and lights up the dark
|
| Hark, the herald angel sings, melodies and harp strings
|
| Rather stay blind to mass-appeal than kill the art for it
|
| So, rhyme-books, they poison with the arsenic
|
| Scribble lines of plots and twists confounding neurologists
|
| Deepen my delirium, I’ll write breathing little puns
|
| Hissing sounds as they release, purge God from bitter nuns
|
| Smoking guns, my lyrics are—dense, the dark attest
|
| They give the same sensation that sinking does
|
| Gills are deficient, navigating watery worlds
|
| Clouds of emotional words hang over my head like a curse
|
| I dig through sentiment like rubble
|
| They say, «Woman is a fish that shows herself most when the waters are troubled»
|
| In this no-man's-land, culture hazardous
|
| Protect neck and self with magic amulets, silent answers does Holding heavy
|
| hearts like Anubis
|
| Consumed by anger, self-confusing who the activist
|
| Only one stage down in the gallows
|
| Where my shadow reigns supreme
|
| Beauty for the hideous, I’m a savage and a beast
|
| Of the stormiest of temperaments
|
| Of waves of manic springs
|
| Blakrok like the runners go in the east
|
| Turn it on, turn it off, turn it on, turn it off
|
| May the rhythm bring peace to your bubbling heart
|
| Find the inner space of night, the most cosmic of sparks
|
| The firefly that shines like the sun and lights up the dark
|
| Turn it on, turn it off, turn it on, turn it off
|
| May the rhythm bring peace to your bubbling heart
|
| Find the inner space of night, the most cosmic of sparks
|
| The firefly that shines like the sun and lights up the dark |