作词 : Adrian Somerville/Katy Somerville
作曲 : Raphaël Harter
...White caustic in my system...
From the roots to the tree that they were livin’ in.
A secret sin transcended by the victim to sow with tiny stitches the
Garment that they withered in...
...White caustic in my system...
From the roots to the tree that they were livin’ in.
A secret sin transcended by the victim to sow with tiny stitches the
Garment that they withered in...
before i lept, i probably should of checked the depth
ingrained in my chain of commendable acts
i'm not the sharpest tool in the shed
but blunt objects hurt more and they still leave you dead
you only die once
but you live everyday so you can try to make up for the **** up's
and cover up those fault lines with make up, on your way to the family function
but first you need a family that functions and you're just there to make up the
numbers
and i'm just here, to steer this wheel, keep my eyes on the road, keep your
hands to ya self
pity never looked pretty no matter how you dressed it up, i ain't playing dolls
and i ain't down for fisti-cuffs
me i'd rather roll in the dirt, get smashed a thousand times against the rocks
until that shit doesn't hurt (anymore)
now i'm ready explore my options, curve balls leave me stumped but that's the
least of my problems
time to scrub that slate clean, now i love who's looking back at me,
so far from that gene ridden factory of misguided information,
now i find my sanctity in the form of perspiration
exploration for submissions
explanations for these symptoms and this sickness i've been living with...
When I ascended I was marked for death,
I put a distance between my wings and lept.
I put a cold shoulder directly to the dirt,
I fit a fist through the fissure to defy the verve.
I’m on a soul plane to unearth the grain,
that inadvertently stole the only joy it gave...
It saved me, the same way it shaped me.
But goddam if the journey didn’t break me.
We were slaving for a master we'd created and the faster we obeyed it,
well the harder it degraded, til the plaster that replaced it was the masking on
our faces
and the fading of the ancients was ingrained within our nature,
see,
It’s the sickness, the caustic in the system,
the sanctum of the victims, disassociated witnesses.
It’s the bliss ****ing blistered in the misery,
the agony and victory,
misogynistic tyranny.
Please! Oh, God, we’re weak.
And so dumb that all we do is speak.
I measure space by the time that it takes
for the strange to awake and to devoid the human sub-state.
And in my heart ache I feel a flutter some days,
the breadth of despair can ingest its own blood waste.
From the tip to the other tip of emptiness,
fear without the heaviness,
lofted from the precipice...
...White caustic in my system...
From the roots to the tree that they were livin’ in.
A secret sin transcended by the victim to sow with tiny stitches the
Garment that they withered in...
...White caustic in my system...
From the roots to the tree that they were livin’ in.
A secret sin transcended by the victim to sow with tiny stitches the
Garment that they withered in...