Vacate is the word... Vengeance has no place so near to her Cannot find a comfort in this world Artificial tears... The vessel stabbed... Next up, volunteers Vulnerable, wisdom can't adhere...
A truant finds home... And a will to hold on... There's a trapdoor in the sun... Immortality...
As privileged as a w***e... Victims in demand for public show Swept out through the cracks beneath the door Surrendered... Executed anyhow Scrawl dissolved, cigar box on the floor...
A truant finds home... And a will to hold on to... There's a trapdoor in the sun...
I cannot stop the thought... Of running out the door... Coming up, a which way sign, all good truants must decide Oh, stripped and sold, mom... And an auctioned forearm... And whiskers in the sink... As Truant finds home... And a will to hold on, to,