I/Imaad Wasif/The Hand of The Imposter (Is the promise of my own)
The rains were pounding on my rooftop Like an animal ripping through a cage And now that you're gone There's no reason for me to stay on
I want to go back home Where I only know the less-knows I want to break free from all these freaks
Come visit me in dreamland And talk in a voice that's echoic The invisible man was the ghost of a woman And a famous rip-off artist
In the ancestral halls where the yellow wallpaper begs For my superstitions I've stood on the fence For long enough to blend The person I was then with who I am now
It's my shing hour Ring out a joyful hymn For the prisoner on the high roads of the globe
The music of the spheres A sel-styled astronomer's hoax One by one I've unhooked the stars And hid them in my coattails
Who will carry the torch Who will inherit the throne All of the posers are inching closer Even the losers and clones
An organ rises A distant wailing Somewhere on the periphery My contempt for you is marching on Bittersweet and unreletingTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
