Tekster: The Banner. Muddweller.

I make myself a bed of angel's wings and crawl inside to warm my face and reptile skin.
Crippled and limping at the torture of a thousand blades.
My reign below the surface sheltered in the shade of all my sins.
I denied catharsia at every turn, and these hateful wounds just will not scab.
When will my heart find peace, put my soul at ease, these cuts never heal.
When will I get to be freed from this waking nightmare, irony as I no longer dream.
I look to the sky for the answers I was promised and once again I stand denied.
I beg for my nightfall, oh when is it my turn to sleep among the dead,
Put my soul at ease, shed this battered corpse, feel the light they see.
I run these claws along my broken skin. I feel the fading warmth of the blood once found within.
Agony. One more sun but I do not rise, another day I choose to sleep.
I keep the minutes carved in my side but even now I do not weep.
How I long to feel just anything, my eyes adjust again to see.
My own prison built in self defense, now it protects my love from me.
How much further can you fall from hell?
The leather wings unfold as destiny is told, and so sets the sun.
It cracks and falls away, the soul loses its weight and shadows replace the blood.
Lay in the dark, lay in the mud watching the sky, lay in the cold,
Lay in the street as the rain sings us to sleep.
Lay in the cold.