Maybe everythings alright. Maybe all the chairs are always spoken for.
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We got workers in back and the light is on their eyes but the sadness in your face is beside you with a grin.
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You've mistaken all the homes and inspirations for the cage.
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How was I supposed to know that we were never meant for this?
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You're the reason we already know and I believe you can call this weekend-mission: success, but there's a scratch across the lens.
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We cataloged all our fears that you treasured and you hoped was here to stay.
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This is the cut of the director and we got scenes out of our way.
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When there's a scratch across the lens, all is lost.
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Hey, wait... we hold our breath as we pass everyone sleeping.
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Tongues
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| The Chariot |
