Dragging through the sinking glass The weakened pulse, the labored beat The drifting skies that pass like tectonic sands That shift beneath my feet
The rise and fall of thousands That bleed between each breath The meekest child with trembling heart Waking in his death
Fill these ragged lungs with venomed air Exhale, exorcise the greying dormant soul The lips shall part and the bone will grate Until this blood runs cold The ink shall dry and flesh will scream Until this blood runs cold
Direction speaks in volumes, as the vowels do light the void The absence of shape, of point, of meaning Mere etchings now dissolved
Translated and transcribed from aching palm A record cast into the aether This biography of meTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
