The blood, how it paints such a scene.
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Foul routine pedigree, mouth agape, stuttered hands attempt to flail, and finally agree.
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Her heart ceases its rhythm... somewhere trumpets decay.
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In the front by the well, wishing wishes that deny the stale smell in the hay.
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Hey there, no one cry.
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Place these over her eyes.
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We are broke and alone... we're all broken alone.
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(She's inanimate, bloodless elegance)
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Fatal fascination breeds a bloom of misery
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(Helpless hiding tongues bathed in revulsion)
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Here lies unfinished beauty wilting premature
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But we can't be too sure, no you can't be too sure
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Reserved; always playing the part of the boy left alone.
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He proceeds to the road beyond the home he learned to call his own.
|
|
(She's inanimate, bloodless elegance)
|
Fatal fascination breeds a bloom of misery
|
(Helpless hiding tongues bathed in revulsion)
|
Here lies unfinished beauty wilting premature
|
But we can't be too sure, no you can't be too sure
|
|
one life for another...
|
|
(She's inanimate, bloodless elegance)
|
Fatal fascination breeds a bloom of misery
|
(Helpless hiding tongues bathed in revulsion)
|
Here lies unfinished beauty wilting premature
|
But we can't be too sure, no you can't be too sure
|
|
-----------------
|
The Procession
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| The Dear Hunter |
