the pull of the waves. The pull of the waves; the natural decay of all that is made is how redemption is paid. Say Dickinson, who do you blame for your
and lengthy nights as some succumb and slumber awakes... Faces count minutes ?til noon -- solar ghosts come kiss the moon goodnight -- grey memories for
breath. I just saw a life turn into death. For them to claim it doesn't count is reckless, blind ignorance. A cry for help, silenced, I saw her go...
in half and the dividing line approaches. For ever stand turned wonderland, for every sound turned song, for every song turned experience, for every
stand intact for centuries, but faces with wind or flood or quake, like toys will crumble, bend and break. I say with actions what you do with words. For
: [Tchaikovsky (A Cappella)] [Instrumental]
mechanized slaughter. The Sentient flaunted their machinist superiority -- an ersatz compensation for real instincts lost. Millenia of ancestry, polwed down for
will be revealed. Flesh is food and bone is stone. A grey-matter cause for inner demons' microphones. Fields of shells that lurk in murky waters. A bed of nails for
condition infects my cells like it controls my mind. Internal army, defend me behind enemy lines! Fragile vehicle of mine! Don't abandon me yet! There is so much to live for
asked me what difference One can make, one day. For we're the moss; the Earth -- the stone, so let us do as did the Tree. For silence will long be ignored
my sense of shame. Who's to blame? Thank you, Pain! (for crippling my body) God bless Suffering! Thank you , Pain! (for freeing my brain) For preventing
flights and lengthy nights as some succumb and slumber awakes... Faces count minutes ?til noon -- solar ghosts come kiss the moon goodnight -- grey memories for
may stand intact for centuries, but faces with wind or flood or quake, like toys will crumble, bend and break. I say with actions what you do with words. For
[Tchaikovsky (A Cappella)] [Instrumental]