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The smell of her perfume |
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Struggles to cover everything, |
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Inside this ringing room |
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Though once subdued, the silence seems to sing |
|
Whoa-oh, I told you so! |
|
Whoa-oh, I told you so! |
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My name is evidence |
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My role is undeniable |
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Unless I've become inadmissable |
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In crimes of consequence, |
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I'm only as reliable as the defendant's defense is defendable |
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I am the kill |
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though I'm unwilling to be still and accept evil |
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as my own personal - and sentient will |
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Nothing makes sense anymore |
|
When murder's just a smistake that you have made |
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Nothing makees sense anymore |
|
So a sick and guilty man will be born again with conscience saved |
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Judicial precendent will see to that |
|
I'll see to that |
|
He'll see to that |
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It's impossible given the incident, |
|
Given his catatonic state, to imagine it playing out any other way |
|
He was admitted on that day |
|
As the doctor read his case, |
|
There were implausibilities he couldn't place |
|
It was obvious that there was something more to this patient |
|
Something had been missed |
|
It's this hole I can see in each of his eyes |
|
where all the events that happen in this real world just kind of fall through. |
|
It's loneliness, it's loneliness |
|
Nothing makes sense anymore |
|
When murder's just a mistake that you have made |
|
Nothing makes sense anymore |
|
So a sick and guilty man will be born again with conscience saved |
