Far from home on a road unknown. Where the vultures circle on winds that blow. From northern skies that haunt these waking moments. . On shadows cast by the mountain range.
Bang bang go the coffin nails. Like a breath, exhaled then gone forever. It seems like just yesterday. How did i miss the red flags raise?. Think back to the days we left.
They turn the lights down low. In shadows hiding from the world. Only coming out when it gets cold. . The seas part when they hit the floor. The voices carry on and out the door.
Little boxes on the hillside. Little boxes made of ticky-tacky. Little boxes on the hillside. Little boxes, all the same. There's a green one and a pink one.
Clip of dialogue from the film American Beauty. (Jane, he's a freak). (Well then so am I). (And we'll always be freaks and we'll never be like other people).
Suffering from something we're not sure of. In a world there is no cure for. These lives we live test negative for happiness. . Flat line, no pulse but eyes open.
They're high on the watchtower. Keeping the peace. Whatever that means. Because you see the world through. Crosshairs and TVs, don't you?. . Ten foot walls built around us.
This night will fall like any other. Daylight subsides and shadows crawl. Out from under black corners. Hiding something stirs. . All so restless. Cracked windows open wide.
With your eyes. Glazed and half-smiling. Explain to me the details. Of your god-given right. . You point your finger. In my face but. You cant remember what you.
Do you spend your days counting the hours you're awake?. And when night covers the sky you find yourself doing the same. It's a burden you've been bearing in spite of all your prayers.
Instrumental. This, is noise.. Instrumental. Tell me how these things traced with colors filled with black debris. And how these loyal, living Reich were nameless things swept out of sight.
On pins and needles we are waiting for the fall. We count the days scratching lines on a wall. Wait in the wings at someone's beck and call. No longer recognize the place that I call home.
He said "Son, have you seen the world?. Well, what would you say if I said that you could?. Just carry this gun and you'll even get paid.". I said "That sounds pretty good.".
Even though we know, yeah. We know. Our time has almost come. We're all overdue. Can there be a place to call our own?. Can there be a road that takes us home?.
The day I learn to fly. I'm never coming down. On perfect wings I'll rise. Through the layers of the clouds. . And from there I see the neon grids of cities.
I have my mother's dreams. I have my father's eyes. You can't take that from me. Just go ahead and try. The cursed city sleeps. While giants in the sky.
Is this the point where we give up?. Now is this the point where we give in?. Now is this the point where we turn ourselves in?. . Or is this the time to ask questions?.
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Buried words. Under lights. Soundtrack to this stagnant life. This meaning lost in translation. Message sucked out of his hands again. . This could be my great awakening.
A sinking ship, an awkward kiss. A chance to set things straight. The kind of hurt that burns and burns. Like fires we can't contain. . We hole up in a shelter made of bones and ice and there we'll wait.