Selecione o idioma para traduzir esta letra
âScribe quickly your name, and stay to the right. Your script is curved.
Itâs inclination hooks and spurts as if rushed to the end.
Weâll see⦠This is only a glimpse. Still, youâve kept your head down.
Where are you hiding? And are you weak? Are you afraid?
Did you creep each step aghast, skirting shadows, or is it what I seek?â
You called to pound the door with pointed hand, but we would burn the house.
We barred the doors with guilt and bone, still we might burn the house.
We would burn this house of ill regard. Cathedral eyes were sewn to bind.
You wonât storm the house. We would burn the house.
My temple, Iâve mortared lock and key alike. Allâs buried, naught to find.
What am I now, torn in two? The illusion of me becomes and confronts you.
What am I, split in two? Whatâs left of me will retreat from this empty knowledge.
Weâll weed out what we donât know.
Iâve cut my loss and severed a thought from mind.
It plummets like a stone, and glaring back from depths to heights, will torch the night. Retreat from this empty knowledge. Weed out what we donât know.
Retreat from this broken logic.
Lost in what we do not know, weâll weed out what we donât know.
The road that lay forward was paved with my fears. I tore at the open floor.
I scurried away, and down. Call out to the open floor.
Call out to the words that bind us whole. Call out from the weighted floor.
Call out to the guards before us all. Call out to the way.
The wound was cauterized. Burn my way and throw me off to the gate.
Come fire. Come flame. Come home. Burn my way. These days were a waste.
Come fire. Come flame. The weight of a sinâs thick fog. Come fire. Come flame.
Burn my way. And after all these words I couldnât break away from its hold.
Weed out what we donât know.
Shadows are fading. The burnt walls are crumbling.
The old guard is changing. We wonât look down, where weâve aimed for.
Not before my eyes, but hidden behind my back, and grasped with blood in claw.
My soul possessions are scant. Withdraw your hands. Iâve set my share alight.
Whatâs beneath this? The husk is wrapped; its form flawed.
Weâll pry the fingers back each bone from bone, all ashen, crumbled away.
False. The rest is soot and blown off. We wonât wait. Fall.
What weâve come digging for is dead and cold.
We couldnât wait for the beatings.