Текст песни The Mars Volta - Day Of The Baphomets

Amputechture
Жанр: Progressive Rock / Psychedelic Rock / Experimental Rock
Исполнитель: The Mars Volta
Альбом: Amputechture
Длительность: 11:57
Рейтинг: 464
MP3: Скачать
Загрузил: magda

Текст:

Sawing off the pavement Repenting their past lives Might I be the only pain that's left to be left behind? Clay and pygmy footsteps Rusted, boil it clean A bullet in linguistics That only we can breathe Now, I got a prayer that'll make you theirs now Beneath sepulchres Raise your entrails as an offer Now, I got a prayer that'll make you theirs now Beneath sepulchres Raise your entrails as an offer Following with pitchforks In a cattle prodded theme Signaling the sedative To emaciate the queen Bowing in constriction Any time you leave We've slipped ourselves in angels In catabata leaves Now, I got a prayer that'll make you theirs now Beneath sepulchres Raise your entrails as an offer Now, I got a prayer that'll make you theirs now Beneath sepulchres Raise your entrails as an offer In my sign I was born To bring death at the footsteps of your home Tonight I have sown All the hair and crooked nails That you all have worn While your white sense of hope I plant the vermin Just who makes it so? How long must we fold our hands? Our guts are burning wheels again Get a match that will make you thin Come clean with the antidote After all we came undone A pair of sluts with hosts that fall One day we will pay your debt Our centipedes will pick the dead Poachers in your home How long must we fold our hands? Our guts are burning wheels again Get a match that will make you thin Come clean with the antidote After all we came undone A pair of sluts with hosts that fall One day we will pay your debt Our centipedes will pick the dead Follow every bottle out And the cruelest smut, smut you know It's the gash that autumn knows Daughters lying at the door Raise the body Breathe your clear air Everybody will call aloud Everybody calls aloud Everybody sing aloud My hands secrete a monument I am the reason For your missing child He might be home But there's no trace Under your pillow I have left a spine All the things we do When you're away I saw the message That you wrote in the sand Dismembered heads that come away The anaesthetic of your gospel sin Put a muzzle on the lamb Put a muzzle on the lamb Give me one page Give me one page Make it blank Mix it, a leak will rain Give me one page Give me one page Make it blank We shall inflict your way Maybe one day you'll stop and realize All that you serveis dead Give me your plate Give me your plate Make it break Nothing you hold is safe How long must we fold our hands? Our guts are burning wheels again Get a match that will make you thin Come clean with the antidote After all we came undone A pair of sluts with hosts that fall One day we will pay your debt Our centipedes will pick the dead Poachers in your home
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