The Artist and The Locksmith

[sethborsch]

Death from above
Bombs sent with love
A perfect picture of
The morbid artist's glove
Painting the scene
With everything i bleed
But the canvas is clean
The painted is me

Bend my back breaking every bone
Never come to terms with my own
All the things i once set in stone
Are forcing me to be alive and alone

This combination is not cracking it up
The door in front of me i built and i shut
Eating at me
Busting the seams
Hard to believe
Myself held the key

Can't understand
the pain that i plan
That i can't control who i am
and i can't die by my own hand

Bombs from above
Death isn't enough
For one without love
Is just another hand in the glove