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Between The Buried And Me

Genres: Metal

Ants Of The Sky Lyrics - Between The Buried And Me

My teeth taste funny today, they seem more jagged than normal. 

I've been told, I've been told, I've been told... 

That I have been grinding them like gears during my dream hours. 

I wonder if it's just my thoughts fusing into one frequent dream, 

One which parts with the night. 

(These are frequent amongst the walking crawlers.) 

 

I saw them dragging the other day, other day. 

Scraping their knees... (and elbows against the bumpy pavement. 

Blood tracks have been filling the streets.) 

 

Seems the high horse is taking them all home, 

I can't leave myself out. 

Seems the high horse is taking them all home, 

I can't leave myself out. 

 

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Why should we sleep today? 

Why should we awake tomorrow? 

We can just pop back a few and drift through this pre-programmed flight. 

We can just pop back a few and drift through this pre-programmed flight. 

 

Across all oceans... 

Across all oceans... 

Across all oceans... 

Across all oceans... (a windy, noisy trek.) 

 

We weren't brought up to grow into one. 

We weren't brought up to grow into one. 

 

(This seems to be what I've needed 

The view used to be better... lands are growing into one 

We wanted it this way.) 

 

I'm going to fly up soon and seek other lands. The soothing air of flight... 

A bird's eye view into what I've always imagined life could be. 

Will it be sought after? 

It might just be useless writing and ideas that laziness will corrupt in the end. 

Bones of dust need hardening. I think the prescription, 

I think the prescription is found. 

 

Photos 

 

Sleep on... fly on. 

In your mind, you can't fly. 

Sleep on... fly on. 

In your mind, you can't fly. 

Sleep on... fly on. 

In your mind, you can't fly. 

Sleep on... fly on. 

In your mind, you can't fly. 

Sleep on. 

 

My teeth grin oddly today... 

They seem to gleam more than normal. 

Maybe it will be noticed. 

 

(That's all we ever asked for. Grinning through it all...) 

 

(In the other corner the thinker thinks: I seem more jagged than normal 

I am the episode of constant wandering 

A nomad in my own surroundings... this hand produces the nerve) 

 

Walking dead. 

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