i play such a good sane game
obody believes where i go
you know i hoped i would grow
but i just got old
and my paint blooming off of me
is exposing all these holes
heaven, a museum of dead angels and
in my mind they do what i tell them to
fallen in impossible angles and
unable to do what they're built to do
i drift away
snares and lines behind
catch nothing on me
that i need
comes a time when the last bit
of skin yields to scar
and that tissue is all you've got
keeping you here
dancing with invisible anglers and
when i'm done carefully remove the curl
sinking far past the surface and
the net drops me from rafters to underworld
string me up
high as god
so i don't
fall again
(2x)