She drove all night thinking of what she'd done.
The blood on her hands has brought her to her knees.
One by one curse the sun to a moment of pure collapse.
Indeed I saw her kneeling at the statue beneath me.
With tears in her eyes, I slit her throat.
The debt is paid for the mistakes you've made, lost and an unwilling.
Spirit for which I could pine.
Waiting for velvet sky.
And hope was left dying.
She woke to find every thorn buried inside her eyes, forgetting to speak she said.
Too close for comfort, she said.
Too close to the grave.
Disrobe this girl and make her grave in a sacred place in their hearts where she can lay dead just like my heart.
Burn down the building rising from these ashes, let's save tomorrow, lift your dead hands.
Lift your hands high.
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