Standing by the closed door
With exits all around of me,
To the left and to the right of me.
But I can't see them
I can't see...
Listening to the timeless clock
Running things for only me.
Counting down to destiny,
Then thrust into obsurity.
Collectively we represent
Guerilla wars against ourselves.
Yellowed pages resting on
The broken bamboo shelves.
And now the expert demolition crews
Construct the mass conception rooms...
We love beneath the crumbling ceilings,
Fight in covered black pavillions,
Loose the insane populations,
But everything must be this way,
Everything must be this way.
Making faces at the sky
Until the Dry Days left me lifeless,
And the Hot Winds cut me; helpless.
But I braved the rain,
Though blood drop that stain
Even dyed the cold moon in its place
With waves of red and grace.
Watch it flood these wastelands over,
Feel the cold red moon get colder.
I've been the screen
For all the things this world has seen,
So now I flash these scenes upon myself,
Scratch out names of those in hell,
Gather round and round myself
Like scattered rats in hidden shelves,
Blindly stumbling, falling over,
I just can't stop starting over
I can't stop starting over... |
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