The world is its own holistic visor. We’re wearing masks because it’s cloudy every day. They’re lying by the stairs, contemplating the course of an evening. I can smell their desperate ways. People aren’t pungent till the mold begins to stay. They hide in damp places, afraid to touch the fray. Why is out so scary that we dwell within? We bring our colors out only to feed the Sun again.
Hold out for temptation; save spoils for another day. Be happy in imperfection; it’s always been this way.
We’ve changed the cursor of the hour. Nothing’s the same. If time were my couch, I’d burn out in his blanket of autumn. The lion of the past is dying; he’s graced the prey he's slain. And bloodshed and mercy, what are you? Who do you own? Guide me home, sweetly thudding rhythm of life. You go on and on and on.
Hold out for temptation; save spoils for another day. Be happy in imperfection; it’s always been this way.
We’ve changed the cursor of the hour. Nothing’s the same. If time were my couch, I’d burn out in his blanket of autumn. The lion of the past is dying; he’s graced the prey he's slain. And bloodshed and mercy, what are you? Who do you own? Guide me home, sweetly thudding rhythm of life. You go on and on and on.