The Mars Volta - Blank Condolences lyrics
[The Mars Volta - Blank Condolences lyrics]
I heard it moving through
Tiny blades of grass
Nursed in the bosom where
They circle the drain
They kept unwinding through
The portrait's eyes
Smother the floor while they writhed
Out here, buried beneath your tombs
My nails scrawl in blood
I will always haunt you
Out here, beneath the things you do
Exhumin' ruins if you audit all the omens
Broken fevers out of time
Wouldn't you want to have closure?
(When your blindness becomes home)
And in that housе
You know I lost myself every timе
Frozen in fetal positions in the
Wake of every touch
And I'm waitin', so my question is
How many more are sequestered?
Out here, buried beneath your tombs
My nails scrawl in blood
I will always haunt you
Out here, beneath the things you do
Exhumin' ruins if you audit all the omens
Broken fevers out of time
Wouldn't you want to have closure?
(When your blindness becomes home)
Burn your fields of sage
It won't keep me from collecting that
Bounty on your head, bounty on your head
Is not a crown of thorns
She will rise she will rise again
Let them dry, real slow, perfectly
No one can hear your voice
And here we are in the ground
Just muffled by deceit and here we are
Caressing the blank condolences
And there you go cowering past the pulpit
Every track holds a rope
And scribbled yarn on a board
Tiny blades of grass
Nursed in the bosom where
They circle the drain
They kept unwinding through
The portrait's eyes
Smother the floor while they writhed
Out here, buried beneath your tombs
My nails scrawl in blood
I will always haunt you
Out here, beneath the things you do
Exhumin' ruins if you audit all the omens
Broken fevers out of time
Wouldn't you want to have closure?
(When your blindness becomes home)
And in that housе
You know I lost myself every timе
Frozen in fetal positions in the
Wake of every touch
And I'm waitin', so my question is
How many more are sequestered?
Out here, buried beneath your tombs
My nails scrawl in blood
I will always haunt you
Out here, beneath the things you do
Exhumin' ruins if you audit all the omens
Broken fevers out of time
Wouldn't you want to have closure?
(When your blindness becomes home)
Burn your fields of sage
It won't keep me from collecting that
Bounty on your head, bounty on your head
Is not a crown of thorns
She will rise she will rise again
Let them dry, real slow, perfectly
No one can hear your voice
And here we are in the ground
Just muffled by deceit and here we are
Caressing the blank condolences
And there you go cowering past the pulpit
Every track holds a rope
And scribbled yarn on a board