1. |
The Lantern & Its Light
02:10
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my head hangs like a lantern that's lost its light to an outline, like on a movie screen. and as the hero enters, I make my exit
the crowd gasps at his fangs, while my sweetheart sleeps so far away
where there's no weight in my arm, with a bandage and tie
and no wounds in your hand to hold my heart
but now with blade have you bound us in lines that sing as I sleep
with blade have you bound us in lines that sing me to sleep
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2. |
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false lines chart his eyes to know if they'd ever seemed real to julia, who's fallen into dreams that haunt spike's head in the hull he wakes up in
where he's not leaving here to die but to know if he'd ever been alive.
red-eyed mystic watched your star sink. said it was like a dream, a dream that soon, soon will be over
at the graveyard i'll wait by the graves not in them
they'll want my corpse strung from lights in cinemas running images that play through your eyes and I won’t be there to stop them
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3. |
Colossus Of Night
01:56
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colossus of night, lend your light
so I might be ember to ward off dead eyes.
but that man and his daughter have sunk to their tombs
while fiends and their shadows softly loom.
in the room where ben's shot as silhouette
gently he hums a song of revenge
gently he hums a song of revenge
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4. |
Foreign Homes
03:43
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haunting, up late, through and through. crane stance on TV.
the worst nights don’t thrill you anymore.
While you were gone, box elders talk trash all night,
but on a screen I’ll see you & fake all my goodbyes.
It’s true, you’re completely empty. it’s why I’m bent so out of shape.
Can’t deflect all the words you find charming
they’ll all melt away into something strange --- something you won’t like
foreign homes in rooms like night watch me sleep, tongue-tied.
Don’t you know there’s no marksman to kiss you, or procession that’ll miss you?
No marksman to kiss you or procession that’ll miss you.
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5. |
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6. |
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i should have stayed inside with my books and pens
now i've only winter and this park bench
where i'll die some night while listening to the city sing for me:
"blue gentian, your parade begins at dawn
when there's no lightning to steal your colors
the way the other bastards would
blue gentian, your mind's still of a scholar's
but you mean to well to not be broken
by fools who don't care.
but, she'll still bring flowers to your grave."
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