With a handful of dirt set him face down Buried a saint just to sell off the house Wade through the wastes Shake off the storm Gold skin of gods keeping your babies warm Your customs felt strange and pretty played out Driving a sword through the heart of your doubts Saw what you saw and word got around Ships disappeared in the cumulus cloud
The rat race has run a serpentine path Free to escape from the bondage of death Welcomed the change Sick with the thirst Drunk off the taste of the blood of the Earth
Scoured the mine Called down the well To find a faraway self Someone you knew Someone you've got to keep down To writhe in the depths Called out your name Safe from the fires of Hell But death holds the bell That hangs on the wind singing for nobody else Your faraway self
I will return to the rocks and the roots and debris Free to return to the rocks and the roots and the weeds I will return to the rocks and the roots and debris Free to return to the rocks and the roots and the weedsTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
