| Can you see what’s following you
|
| It has a mind of its own
|
| Steps so quiet you can’t hear it
|
| A parasite without a home
|
| It’s got a smile, but you don’t trust it
|
| Concrete reasons unknown
|
| Put it behind you in the space of your day
|
| A parasite without a home
|
| Leave her to sing her withered songs
|
| In tunnels painted like the dawn
|
| Bring me, the echo till it’s gone
|
| Nothing escapes this hold
|
| Desperate against the cold
|
| Its flesh made out of stardust
|
| Iron oxide into rust
|
| To write a letter to the night
|
| This songless, sightless, silent giant
|
| This feeble plea
|
| A speck of dust
|
| A drop of sea
|
| It’s locked in you and me
|
| Rip it out and feel it’s heat
|
| Forget the way things seem to be;
|
| Meaningless to the one and only
|
| Leave her to sing her withered songs
|
| In tunnels painted like the dawn
|
| Bring me, the echo till it’s gone
|
| Nothing escapes this hold
|
| Desperate against the cold
|
| Its flesh made out of stardust
|
| Iron oxide into rust
|
| It’s got a smile, but you don’t trust it
|
| Concrete reasons unknown
|
| Put it behind you in the space of your day
|
| A parasite without a home
|
| And she’ll be standing strong
|
| Her hair is lost in storm
|
| Open your mouth
|
| And let air rush in
|
| To get a sense of her form
|
| But if the audience is imminent
|
| And if your parasites come home
|
| Remember the old adage:
|
| Deep roots are not reached by frost
|
| Leave her to sing her withered songs
|
| In tunnels painted like the dawn
|
| To write a letter to the night
|
| This sightless, songless, silent giant |