With qualms that I speak
|
of the wrists I have cut
|
By flooding the tubs
|
where the warmth held below
|
|
The lockets believe
|
that the secret of love
|
Has caught its own tail
|
and it just won't give up
|
|
When I breathe
|
the heavens can't hold me
|
And I can't believe anymore
|
|
The night brings
|
the highest execution
|
Show me the wings I must cut
|
|
In your lead filled days
|
these are desperate graves
|
|
Give me the alter
|
red will shine
|
The pendulum won't wait
|
[x2]
|
|
If I slay your spirits
|
with twin current volts
|
That weakened your knees
|
in the pit of my palms
|
|
Dressed in the slurs
|
of bovine engines
|
To feast upon the carcass
|
of your mother
|
|
When I breathe
|
the heavens can't hold me
|
And I can't believe anymore
|
|
The light breathes
|
the highest execution
|
Show me the wings I must cut
|
|
In your lead filled days
|
these are desperate graves
|
|
Give me the alter
|
red will shine
|
The pendulum won't wait
|
[x2]
|
|
When I turn the dial
|
and leave the gas on
|
I'm the matchstick
|
that you'll never lose
|
|
These are the splinters
|
made from a single blade
|
I'm the matchstick
|
that you'll never lose
|
|
I'm like the key
|
that locks you in
|
I'm the matchstick
|
that you'll never lose
|
|
When you wear the burning
|
of all my ferns
|
I'm the matchstick
|
that you'll never lose
|
|
In your lead filled days
|
these are desperate graves
|
|
Give me the alter
|
red will shine
|
This pendulum won't wait
|
[x4]
|
|
-----------------
|
Desperate Graves
|
Mars Volta |