| Within the shadows of the ever-barren
|
| We decompose like decrepit particles
|
| Windows of your inner being
|
| Neglecting what is loved
|
| It’s the absence of substance
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| Struggling to exist
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| In this hallowed yet hollow shell
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| Hey you, your guard’s up but the whole room can see straight through
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| Your exoskeleton is plastic
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| Melting 'round the edges and dripping down your spine
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| You’ve got very little time
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| And most of it is mine anyways
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| Oh no! |
| Don’t hesitate, they can sense it
|
| Within the shadows of the ever-barren
|
| We decompose like decrepit particles
|
| Can you feel me crawling through your inner being?
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| You’re a hollow shell that once existed
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| Did you come into the sending?
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| So send me away. |
| We all just end up as dust
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| Glorified ash. |
| Rust. |
| Welcome, my guest, to the attic!
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| Just shut the trap behind you, don’t panic, we don’t mean to startle you
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| If you could just remove all your clothes
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| Shut your mouth and relax and we’ll remove a part of you
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| Wrap her up, wrap her up, wrap her up
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| Struggle deep inside the cobweb, we can feel the strands shake off
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| Fill up my stomach with heartbeats!
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| Skitter backwards into cluttered recesses, your home is ours!
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| Everything you threw out, abandoned;
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| We took as our own, built it up in our own way
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| Mansion of mess! |
| A legacy of refuse, eaten memories and scars
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| Don’t stay. |
| I don’t care, just let me be or make me whole
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| Walk, crawl, run. |
| As long as you don’t forget this place, our faces,
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| these old floors
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| «Home is where the hearts are,» said the hunger to the waiting predator
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| Now I know where to go. |
| «Home is where the fun starts,»
|
| Said the hunger to the waiting predator
|
| Yeah, I know where to go. |
| Go for the throat |