In my den
On the outskirts of density
The fools use miles to keep the wise at bay
And they think they’re safe
But for
She, she, she
And they won’t speak, speak, speak, ha!
Her name
Like a bad joke, the horns sound
Hits like a dull cloud
As some poor son of a «don't know how» sets out
And the scent’s out
Slash dust
They should have learned
If there was ever a reason not to stay here alone
Oh, and it’s like a bad itch
Maybe she
Could be, could be, could be What I need, need, need, ha!
So let’s see
I gathered up all my holy books
O, my holy ink and paper
And I burned them all
Stripped naked and I set out
And the scent’s out
I am hunger, I am thirst
Where I bite, I hold till I die
I could fast a hundred years
I could lie a hundred nights on the ice and not freeze
I could drink a river of blood and not burst
Now tell me, who comes to disturb me?
She spoke with a voice colder than a grave
But sure as stone, I held my gaze
I said I can make an inch a mile
I am the outcast, the truth-lie
I paint with ghosts
I am any and every meaning in life
I am black blood
Yeah, I am deeper than dying
I am not here to conquer
I am here
The kill at her breath was a perfume
There was no denying that we belonged to each other
So what do gods do on equal ground?
They don’t
Suffer any will but their own
And so they went forth into stories told
Stories told, stories told, stories told