An old song I dug up.
I never worked out a title. The stars indicate a chorus-esque part of the song, and both ** and *** have musical interludes directly following.
Through series of photographs
Blame falls like blood at a crime scene
You can't claim it's right, but
It's just what you've been wanting
Someone's broken silence screams
That "fear is the Jesus of our age"
We're all getting saved, but
These ropes - they won't restrain me
*Now I lay myself down to sleep
I pray to god my bones don't creak
And if I die before I wake
Would you feel dreaming's a mistake?
I lie toward expanding my memory
The ghosts in the attic are whispering
The roses are wilting
While you make your arrangements
**From here, there's nowhere left to go
A freezing winter lacking snow
And barren plains of solid gold
Where spiteful slur is growing old
The firing squads are at standstills
Ulbilical cords to your TVs
The clock's ticking backwards
It's not quite entertainment
***As though a part of you had died
Our lofty gazes coincide
Wade through the salty waves of pride
I'll meet you on the other side
There's no room for sympathy
A word in the dark, and you're with me
The moon's bleeding sunlight
But are we only sleeping?
Through series of photographs
Blame falls like blood at a crime scene
You can't claim it's right, but
It's just what you've been wanting
Someone's broken silence screams
That "fear is the Jesus of our age"
We're all getting saved, but
These ropes - they won't restrain me
*Now I lay myself down to sleep
I pray to god my bones don't creak
And if I die before I wake
Would you feel dreaming's a mistake?
I lie toward expanding my memory
The ghosts in the attic are whispering
The roses are wilting
While you make your arrangements
**From here, there's nowhere left to go
A freezing winter lacking snow
And barren plains of solid gold
Where spiteful slur is growing old
The firing squads are at standstills
Ulbilical cords to your TVs
The clock's ticking backwards
It's not quite entertainment
***As though a part of you had died
Our lofty gazes coincide
Wade through the salty waves of pride
I'll meet you on the other side
There's no room for sympathy
A word in the dark, and you're with me
The moon's bleeding sunlight
But are we only sleeping?