Lingering in your garden here our tired hands are bound | |
To toiling without pleasure in this murky earth we found | |
Distance is at fault here and its slowly gaining ground | |
So stay here at my table till proximity is sound | |
Keep it in, keep your last breathe, make it worthwhile | |
I was looking for something, when I was pulling my skin off | |
So if god is an acronym, some giver of damnation | |
Then why even bother with the concept of man | |
Ideals have run wild, escaped from our heads | |
And with the chosen so few should it warrant attempt? | |
And what if my fear is all that I am? | |
A poison to ease what small conscience I have left | |
But soon we’ll find we lived and died with the world in our hands | |
You left all your children out | |
You left all your children fending for our precious lives | |
I am the fortunate one, left with the blood in my skin | |
You are the only thing I hope is real in a dark world | |
I am the fortunate one, left with the blood in my limbs | |
You are the only thing I hope is real in a dark world |
Lingering in your garden here our tired hands are bound | |
To toiling without pleasure in this murky earth we found | |
Distance is at fault here and its slowly gaining ground | |
So stay here at my table till proximity is sound | |
Keep it in, keep your last breathe, make it worthwhile | |
I was looking for something, when I was pulling my skin off | |
So if god is an acronym, some giver of damnation | |
Then why even bother with the concept of man | |
Ideals have run wild, escaped from our heads | |
And with the chosen so few should it warrant attempt? | |
And what if my fear is all that I am? | |
A poison to ease what small conscience I have left | |
But soon we' ll find we lived and died with the world in our hands | |
You left all your children out | |
You left all your children fending for our precious lives | |
I am the fortunate one, left with the blood in my skin | |
You are the only thing I hope is real in a dark world | |
I am the fortunate one, left with the blood in my limbs | |
You are the only thing I hope is real in a dark world |
Lingering in your garden here our tired hands are bound | |
To toiling without pleasure in this murky earth we found | |
Distance is at fault here and its slowly gaining ground | |
So stay here at my table till proximity is sound | |
Keep it in, keep your last breathe, make it worthwhile | |
I was looking for something, when I was pulling my skin off | |
So if god is an acronym, some giver of damnation | |
Then why even bother with the concept of man | |
Ideals have run wild, escaped from our heads | |
And with the chosen so few should it warrant attempt? | |
And what if my fear is all that I am? | |
A poison to ease what small conscience I have left | |
But soon we' ll find we lived and died with the world in our hands | |
You left all your children out | |
You left all your children fending for our precious lives | |
I am the fortunate one, left with the blood in my skin | |
You are the only thing I hope is real in a dark world | |
I am the fortunate one, left with the blood in my limbs | |
You are the only thing I hope is real in a dark world |