about
lyrics
We’re all dying in our sleep in favor of our peaceful dreams. For bandages and broken glass and wolves in white elephant masks. You’re too good for a fake like me so I’m milking heart attacks with chipped plastic teeth.
I’m an overdosed shroud eater; a mute set, a broken trap while you’re curled up in another’s lap. Oh, can’t you hear the ghosts hiding in our walls?
There’s a hell, it’s in the threads we cut. Blame it on karma, or call it bad luck. I don’t want your love, but I swear to god this hurts like fuck. I don’t want to call, I don’t want to write; I just want to get some sleep tonight.
And if there is a god, what will he do with all these failing organs of mine? Will he stretch them out and make a better night sky? Or feed them by the handful to the birds. What can he do?
credits
license
all rights reserved