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Vacate is the word, vengeance has no place so near to her |
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Cannot find the comfort in this world |
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Artificial tear, vessel stabbed, next up volunteers |
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Vulnerable, wisdom can't adhere |
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A truant finds home |
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And I wish to hold on to |
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But there's a trapdoor in the sun |
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Immortality |
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As privileged as a whore, victims in demand for public show |
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Swept out through the cracks beneath the door |
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Holier than thou, how? Surrendered executed, anyhow |
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Scrawled his note, cigar box on the floor |
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A truant finds home |
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And I wish to hold on to |
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There's a trapdoor in the sun |
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I cannot stop the thought |
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Of running in the dark and |
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Coming up a which way sign |
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All the truants must decide |
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Oh, stripped and sold mom, an auctioned forearm |
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And whiskers in the sink, the truants move on |
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Cannot stay long, no, and some die just to live |
