Guest vocals courtesy of Jason Overdorff from Jedediah The Pilot.
Who’s to say the architect accepted imperfection?
Smile for the, smile for the mirror.
Who’s to say the architect was right?
Dead men are better left in their books.
Liars are too fragile.
The bones of holy wars -
too broken to swallow.
So I would assume much like my abandonment that
holiness can’t touch me
when spitting back its verses.
Smoke the lungs with a distraction
to roll back into an empty head.
Lo and behold:
Hell made me her saint.
The lovers would stop making love.
Aroused by the thought that they might die alone.
Our bones are ignored by only a clock.
We are unidentified by all but our teeth.
Smothered in the lines that make for an easy transition.
But no more equipped to speak.
And I don’t have the eyes to swallow.
Or the tongues to think more than once.
Beg for truth.
Like lighting a candle in hell.
Remorse is a long shot for a holy man.
The crisis cannot be adverted.
Your insolence is shit
and heaven cannot be judged.
The angels in the rafters
are better suited for the schizos.
Qualities more shallow than cleavage.
Hitting every branch on the way down.
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Faith is rewarded with a 7th symphony.
Where was predetermination in the Garden of Eden?
I can’t feed the
rats inside my
with the termites
rotting the wood of the chapel.
God won’t stand down.
And if this seems like a Neverland.
It very much isn’t.
If you’ve been praying for the eternal,
you’re not looking in the right place.
What can you build out of nothing that you might wish to outlive?
And I’m staring into the face of the abyss.
I hear not an echo in reply.
But as fair as it may seem to fear death, it's as shameful as fearing the nothing that replies.
I know not of the other side.
My will is impermanent.
I left the hands of the divine,
I couldn’t bear to wear the rings of my only sorrow.
If I could die content today,
tomorrow’s hardly new but I’m once again afraid.
Her beauty is unbearable,
drives us to despair,
offering to us for a minute
the glimpse of an eternity
that we should like to stretch out over the whole of time.
Appease me in my reckoning.
Light the strings up to the guilty hands of judgement.
If I’m taking after heaven,
I’m as lonely as the muse that sits behind the throne.
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