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Vacate is a word, vengeance has no place so near to her |
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Cannot find a comfort in this world |
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Artificial tears, the vessel's stabbed, next up, volunteers |
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Vulnerable, wisdom can't adhere |
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A truant finds home |
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And a will to hold on |
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There's a trapdoor in the sun |
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It's immortality |
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As privileged as a whore, victims in demand for public show |
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Swept out through the cracks beneath the door |
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Holier than thou, how, surrendered executed anyhow |
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Scrawls resolved, cigar box on the floor |
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A truant finds home |
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And a will to hold on to |
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There's a trapdoor in the sun... |
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...It's immortality |
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I cannot stop the thought, of running out the door |
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Coming up, a which way sign, and all good truants must decide |
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Oh stripped and sold alone, and an auctioned forearm |
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And whiskers in the sink |
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A truant finds home, and a will to hold on to |
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Some die just to live, oh |
