Žodžiai dainai: Million Dead. Other. A Song To Ruin.

A lone voice crying in the wilderness:
Make the straight way for the coming of the...

A dry throat stutters on an empty vision of milk and honey and desolate quiet.
A dry mouth falters on the opening blast of a song to ruin,
What it left behind.
a bare sole longing for the feel of concrete and a lone voice crying in the wilderness.

I have these dreams when I'm feeling sick of unfinished patterns that I can't collate at all.
Of an inward breath in a land bereft of uncrippled figures.
Of an exhalation,
Of the himavant,
Of a pulse.