|
Put your arms around my neck |
|
just like a pathetic lace of death |
|
displays like a tarot deck |
|
I am the card of the hanged man |
|
and here I stand |
|
with a flame on my hand |
|
do you understand? |
|
If there is hope for me |
|
she is flirting with the breeze |
|
on a peculiar choreography |
|
with the dead arms of some old southern tree |
|
silently, lips sealed against me |
|
silently, wanna walk with me? |
|
And it makes you wanna know |
|
if in all the stories the truth is really told |
|
And it makes you wanna reborn |
|
and like a snake crawl every warm season |
|
Into a different form |
|
When you can still kill me, |
|
when you can still cure me. Cure me. |
|
Put your lace around my face |
|
just like a fairytale |
|
through the blank of my closed eyes |
|
you can foresee the rope within |
|
And it makes you wanna know |
|
how deep have you truly flown |
|
And it makes you wanna ride |
|
through the fake suicide of someone |
|
already dead inside |
|
Still you walk with me, silently |
|
and it makes you wanna disclaim |
|
something you had really never learnt |
|
and it makes you wanna stay |
|
forever tangled in the pale arms of some hanged man |
|
Here I stand. To understand. |
|
Violently. I have you with me. |
