Silence the endless fade, beg for disaster, tear what's open apart, enjoy life's stink. Severed skin, fractured heart; regret alone, so cold, hard as hell.
It makes us sick in return as we crawl nearer the edge from which I fall.
It's here that it begins, instability will win. No more discharge, a world of our own; it grows in. A place to leave misery and overcome what flows.
It makes us sick in return as we crawl nearer the edge. The black dog stands tall.
Hours of fears that alienate me. A place to leave my misery.
Lead us back from side roads, wrong roads. Give us a goal because we are sick.
Track Name: Brood
Treating the shackles like the motor.
Sitting here won't stop the fucking ache.
Creeping lower, seeking the dark, the middle has been left to rot.
Praying for the heat to return, screaming for my veins to burn.
Waiting expectantly for a future with a past of shame.
At this desk my brain aches, my heart clots.
In these thoughts my hand shakes, my head stops.
Continually the burn takes flight inside.
I wait for time to pass, my hand shakes.
Now I can't forget what's been left behind.