| This is not a means to an ending
|
| Just a broken and twisted path
|
| Foreboding the droning tasks
|
| That face the shell of a shattered man
|
| The shell of a shattered man
|
| Dripping. |
| Incessant dripping won’t stop
|
| Not for the machines that bellow through the corridors
|
| Nor for the joy and wonder from my mind
|
| That oozes, pools and weeps through every orifice of mine
|
| Patch it, plug it, dry it. |
| Scramble and claw for the fragments that once were
|
| Patch it, plug it, dry it. |
| Piece it back together
|
| Patch it, plug it, dry it. |
| Scramble and claw for the fragments that once were
|
| Patch it, plug it, dry it. |
| Piece it back together
|
| Now I’m scraping the barrel
|
| And now I’m scraping the barrel
|
| Is there something I must’ve just missed along the way;
|
| A piece of me I somehow left behind, and lost between the days?
|
| And now I’m scraping the barrel
|
| Scrape and rake my life away. |
| Light grows dimmer every day, repressed dreams
|
| confide in me
|
| Taste and feel. |
| Erase the years. |
| Another one down the hatch
|
| Patch it, plug it, dry it. |
| Scramble and claw for the fragments that once were
|
| Patch it, plug it, dry it. |
| Piece it back together
|
| Patch it, plug it, dry it. |
| Scramble and claw for the fragments that once were
|
| Patch it, plug it, dry it. |
| Piece it back together
|
| This is not a means to an ending
|
| Just a broken and twisted path
|
| Foreboding the droning tasks
|
| That face the shell of a shattered man
|
| The shell of a shattered man
|
| Bottoms up, another one down the hatch
|
| Bottoms up, another one down the hatch |