Long ago, a crumbling whole of me was split in two. Spat
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forth into darkness and light, like the Birth from the
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womb. I live like this in stillborn life. I shed my skin and
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blood and vein, still i couldn't find my way home again.
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So climb inside and rot here for a while. Outside I can hear
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this dying world screaming. Displaced from my earthly
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home, like the corpse from the tomb. So climb inside and
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rot here for a while. This pain I own, A gift in return for
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a taking, a wounding, a breaking. This is our childhood's
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end. Can't remember when it all began. I want to burn
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the masters and the slaves and those who pray that I'll
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repent and be like them. A gift in return for a taking, a
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wounding, a breaking. This is our childhood's end. Can't
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remember when it all began. I want to burn the masters
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and the slaves and those who pray that i'll repent and be
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like them. I'm in exile. I'm in exile. Eternally bleeding,
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but not broken. The price I pay for vision, I'm not
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broken. After all, what can one see with blind open eyes.
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I'm in exile. Eaten the dirt from my own grave. Chosen to
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be a certain slave. Now in this way I die. Yet I am more
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alive. Yet I am more alive, I'm in exile.
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-----------------
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Nomad
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| Crisis |
