When we knew less of the secrets. When the future wasn’t screaming. Then we all would dream of angels, when the nights were still for dreaming. Now there’s tape over our mouths, and there’s murder in the silence. We’ve bound and gagged ourselves, in a marathon of violence.
Where have you gone? What have you made your truth? Now look what you’ve done. Look what your truth made you.
The bloody ground speaks, these are not revelations. The second coming of nothing, just denial. The newborn screams, in cold anticipation, with wolves lying in wait for the arrival.
Where have you gone? What have you made your truth? Now look what you’ve done. Look what your truth made you.
Now we know to many secrets. Now the future’s fucking screaming, and the nights they crawl by sleepless in our hatred, in our grieving.
Where have you gone? What have you made your truth? Now look what you’ve done. Look what your truth made you.
The bloody ground speaks. Yeah, the bloody ground speaks. Listen.
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