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Description
Sit there in a solomn chamber
of guilty recollection, obsession, and strangers.
A family of lies and a lie to the family
that defined a new form of reckless profanity.
The letters you fed on
to hide your insecurity, failure, impurity...
but the scribe calls it humanity.
The records you put on
when you feel all alone...
Do you really think they know you?
Do you really think they care?
The creeping feeling that nothing is working.
Nothing can fill the space in your bed,
That place in your head
Where the ravens don't dare.
Wrap up the bodies in a fur rug,
What a senseless waste of life.
That pelt has felt the last warm skin.
Mine's worn thin as has my patience.
Wait all you want, but it's Sunday I'm afraid.
He's not getting paid for the time that wasn't made.
And you should be afraid that father's not coming home tonight.

Description
Sit there in a solomn chamber
of guilty recollection, obsession, and strangers.
A family of lies and a lie to the family
that defined a new form of reckless profanity.
The letters you fed on
to hide your insecurity, failure, impurity...
but the scribe calls it humanity.
The records you put on
when you feel all alone...
Do you really think they know you?
Do you really think they care?
The creeping feeling that nothing is working.
Nothing can fill the space in your bed,
That place in your head
Where the ravens don't dare.
Wrap up the bodies in a fur rug,
What a senseless waste of life.
That pelt has felt the last warm skin.
Mine's worn thin as has my patience.
Wait all you want, but it's Sunday I'm afraid.
He's not getting paid for the time that wasn't made.
And you should be afraid that father's not coming home tonight.