Syncope dreams
Where a covert man with hatchet rage
Whittles away.
He looks me dead in the eye,
But still lets me hide.
And I awake to seven cold mistakes.
Well, this can't be right.
The tide swings red.
All sinews torn,
Dissections have made their beds.
Cut parts appearing,
Heads I know backstroke
Up and down the creek.
Swinging, swinging
I miss the ringing
The pressure in my ears.
It's all flooding back.
Swinging, swinging
I miss the ringing
The pressure in my ears.
Breaks and fractures feed Syncope dreams Where a covert man with hatchet rage Whittles away. He looks me dead in the eye, But still lets me hide. And I awake to seven cold mistakes. Well, this can't be right. The tide swings red. All sinews torn, Dissections have made their beds. Cut parts appearing, Heads I know backstroke Up and down the creek. Swinging, swinging I miss the ringing The pressure in my ears. It's all flooding back. Swinging, swinging I miss the ringing The pressure in my ears. Explain Request ×
Lyrics taken from
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