| Must clean up the way until there is no one left alive | |
| And then there is always someone begging for the light. Endtime! | |
| Time, torn and thrown into pre-existential oceans, pre-ritual | |
| Must clean up the way till there's no trace left of me. Endtime! | |
| Did I see me last night? Then denied it today? | |
| Same solitude rite, done again? | |
| It pours down upon me | |
| Disgorging down from above. | |
| And now it's too late. | |
| Now, how are you tonight? | |
| Is there any way I could be of help tonight? | |
| I write a vomit serenade of living yesterdays | |
| I'll show you tonight that no one really wants to listen to a song that really hurts | |
| Who'd ever want a love like a rainbow in the rain, iridescent but vain | |
| I thought you would lie | |
| Next to me in this bed of swallowed time | |
| And deceiving the autumn and all the remaining time | |
| And deceiving the horror, the pest and the relative slime | |
| And the cancers and darkness behind the doors at night | |
| Today all these things are unaware | |
| Must clean up the way until there's not a soul left by my side | |
| But there's always a little sign of someone meant to take good care of your heart |
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