Thirty-first, unrehearsed
I'm thrown from all I've known
A sillhouette, set among
The badlands paved with stone.
Photographs, fingerprints
Fragile refugee
Higher eyes, fire in
The skys society.
Can I hold on? Can I believe in,
all the things you are?
There's no sane in, chaos reigns in,
Subterranea
Cadillac, heart-attack
back of this beyond.
Pusher king, TV queen
the color dating blonde.
A traitors gate, while you wait
gender re-assigned.
Surgeon carves, the matching halves
the blindfold leads the blind.
Can I hold on? I cannot count them
all the things you are.
We're all stronger, I'd hold out longer in
Subterranea.
And caught within chemical rain.
My dreams have turned against me, and fatally have fenced me in.
Above me cold light and below me overall,
The time I've lost, how can I know?
So I keep forgetting what I am half recalling.
On a bed of fallen flowers, hold me now, as I was held before.
Powerhouse sacred vows, trigger happy punk.
Driven by the hidden lies and figure hugging junk.
Heaven knows if I'm closed, am I unreleased?
If I'm in hell I may as well play famine to the feast.
Can I hold on? Can I belong to
all the things you are?
There's no sane in, chaos reigns in
Subterranea.
Subterranea.
Subterranea.
