junkies, intellects and preachers
all addicted to your clans
caged by ribs sits the believer
with less friends than fingers on one hand
when silence speaks free
when no ones home
when cold and lucid
when bruised and torn
look into your abyss
nothing tastes like this
look into....
is what you see here what you wanted?
no soft lens, no violins
like the gray eyes of a dead man
the mirror always stares
Iâve got a little riddle in my head
whatâs the little riddle in your head?
look into your abyss
