The ghost of the highway knows the dance I hide inside, will your God save us ?
Show me the truth and I'll kill your answers with the question of letting go. No reason for the scars love leaves on our wings, no reason for the snow on the floor of my collapsing mind.
All but flight constrains the freedom of thought.
The crippled writer laid even by his hands again.
Every fibre blown between the cracked skin. Your living inside the pictures is the reason these walls hold us. The night shades me from the driving of asking ; How strange is this life ?
How many hands will it take to give me the freedom ? Into the prison of waiting, the great beast speaks only to me, we share the name given to us by he who controlled the flow of pain. Her skin still so pretty, but fading, faster and faster, the paint drips from the walls, as the body finally leaves. This is all that was left behind? And now even this is dripping towards the floor.
Show me the truth and I'll kill your answers with the question of letting go. No reason for the scars love leaves on our wings, no reason for the snow on the floor of my collapsing mind.
All but flight constrains the freedom of thought.
The crippled writer laid even by his hands again.
Every fibre blown between the cracked skin. Your living inside the pictures is the reason these walls hold us. The night shades me from the driving of asking ; How strange is this life ?
How many hands will it take to give me the freedom ? Into the prison of waiting, the great beast speaks only to me, we share the name given to us by he who controlled the flow of pain. Her skin still so pretty, but fading, faster and faster, the paint drips from the walls, as the body finally leaves. This is all that was left behind? And now even this is dripping towards the floor.