Paroles de la chanson Blank Condolences par The Mars Volta
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Paroles de la chanson Blank Condolences par The Mars Volta
I heard it moving through tiny blades of grass
Nursed in the bosom where they circle the drain
They kept unwinding through the portraits eyes
Smother the floor while they writhed
Out here, buried beneath your tombs
My nails scrawl in blood
I will always haunt you
Out here, beneath the things you do
Exhuming ruins
If you audit all the omens
Broken fevers out of time
Wouldn't you want to have closure?
When your blindness becomes home
And in that house, you know I lost myself
Nursed in the bosom where they circle the drain
They kept unwinding through the portraits eyes
Smother the floor while they writhed
Out here, buried beneath your tombs
My nails scrawl in blood
I will always haunt you
Out here, beneath the things you do
Exhuming ruins
If you audit all the omens
Broken fevers out of time
Wouldn't you want to have closure?
When your blindness becomes home
And in that house, you know I lost myself
Every time
Frozen in fetal positions in the wake of every touch
And I'm waiting so my question is
How many more are sequestered?
Out here, buried beneath your tombs
My nails scrawl in blood
I will always haunt you
Out here, beneath the things you do
Exhuming ruins
If you audit all the omens
Broken fevers out of time
Wouldn't you want to have closure?
When your blindness becomes home
Burn your fields of sage
Lt won't keep me from collecting that
Frozen in fetal positions in the wake of every touch
And I'm waiting so my question is
How many more are sequestered?
Out here, buried beneath your tombs
My nails scrawl in blood
I will always haunt you
Out here, beneath the things you do
Exhuming ruins
If you audit all the omens
Broken fevers out of time
Wouldn't you want to have closure?
When your blindness becomes home
Burn your fields of sage
Lt won't keep me from collecting that
Bounty on your head, bounty on your head
There's not a crown of thorns
She will rise
She will rise again
Let them dry, real slow, perfectly
No one can hear your voice
Here we are
In the ground
Just muffled for deceit
And here we are
Caressing the blank condolences
There you go
Cowering past a pulpit
Every tack holds a rope
Scribbled yarn on a board
There's not a crown of thorns
She will rise
She will rise again
Let them dry, real slow, perfectly
No one can hear your voice
Here we are
In the ground
Just muffled for deceit
And here we are
Caressing the blank condolences
There you go
Cowering past a pulpit
Every tack holds a rope
Scribbled yarn on a board
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