Is that a strain
|
Or a delicate smile
|
Built to proportion?
|
It might as well have been you
|
And all the things you do
|
Somedays
|
I'm waiting
|
For my pulse to calm down
|
Into the low hundreds
|
I shake the shirt loose off my back
|
|
Day and night, year in year out
|
|
I discovered my sweet dreams
|
Of corruption deep inside myself
|
I should have stood in carny
|
Or end up preserved upon your shelf
|
|
Day and night, year in year out
|
|
Will you ever understand
|
That I'm only an object
|
Day and night year in year out
|
I'm just trying to be the subject
|
|
Where others see the abstract
|
I only see the truth
|
And that has always been
|
To repeat my youth
|
|
-----------------
|
Year In Year Out
|
| Entombed |
