Look, I have hands But the people said, “What are hands?” Why am I helping these people? I’m dooming myself with them My own hands are numb Abandoned by sensation Betrayed on our planet Now we’re dislocated
Strike the soft part, of the abdomen Look just below, the bottom of the sternum Aim up over liver, and through the diaphragm Terminate a heart’s, pounding rhythm
A prophet for a fugitive An aristocrat of misfortune Queen of the damned
The ground beneath my feet Feels darker and deeper The cold, dry light of the sky An odd frequency Watching from the shadows Of a beckoning open fire This place of exile Is offering up power
Strike the soft part, of the abdomen Look just below, the bottom of the sternum Aim up over liver, and through the diaphragm Terminate a heart’s, pounding rhythm
A prophet for a fugitive An aristocrat of misfortune Queen of the damned
Cast down the rocks No time for sharpening sticks Open up your gates To this sphere of experience There may be a way out Of this dead-end existence Imagine your command The thought-form will cover the distance
Strike the soft part, of the abdomen Look just below, the bottom of the sternum Aim up over liver, and through the diaphragm Terminate a heart’s, pounding rhythm
A prophet for a fugitive An aristocrat of misfortune Queen of the damnedTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
