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In the shadow of these black suburban hills, |
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Dreamt by architects who've given up their will, |
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There's an emptiness that never can be filled, |
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Have you ever known the world to be so still, |
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Have you ever heard a silence be so shrill, |
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As you rise to smell the air before a kill, |
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In the absence of distraction or a thrill. |
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|
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Always your, first instinct, |
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Compels you to jump, head first in, |
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The comfort you crave, is not in the grave, |
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But here in my arms. |
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|
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In the moments when your vices are allayed, |
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Are you left abandoned and afraid, |
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Do you question the decisions that you've made, |
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Are you haunted by the ghost that you've betrayed. |
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|
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Always your, first instinct, |
|
Compels you to jump, head first in, |
|
The comfort you crave, is not in the grave, |
|
But here in my arms. |
|
|
|
Have you ever known the world to be so still, |
|
Have you ever heard a silence be so shrill, |
|
As you rise to smell the air before a kill, |
|
In the absence of distraction or a thrill. |
|
|
|
Always your, first instinct, |
|
Compels you to dump, all hope and jump, |
|
The comfort you crave, is not in the grave, |
|
But here in my arms. |
