winter of my disconnect - lfntm lyrics
[verse 1]
welcome to the iciest circle of h-ll
where providence is lost
and the d-mned do dwell
do well by themselves
ain’t n0body else to pay fare to the boatman
fair thee well to the holy land
bricks and mortar, sticks and stones
volary of vultures to clean your bones
dead as a doornail
volley of the scorched earth policy
siren song to your odyssey
unapologetically, “these are the breaks”
violators will be capsized
by the t–th of scylla
or the tides of charybdis:
every mast snapped in half
going down without a fight
so much for setting sail
to any port beyond the veil
close enough to touch what we cannot see
yet so removed we imagine that it’s all out of reach
as the day goes cold and the night grows long
we wield our scythe ’til the work gets done
wax wings stretched wide despite the sun
to reach the highest rung
before falling to the ocean
every flag planted on the summit
but what what do we gain from it
prove we’ve got brawn and a stomach?
i look to the future to see if there’s a place
where the plot ever changes
but the plot never changes
as the day goes cold and the night grows long
we yield our scythe ’til the work’s undone
wax wings stretched wide despite the sun
to reach the highest rung
before falling to the ocean
every flag planted on the summit
but what do we gain from it
prove we’ve got brawn and a stomach?
i look to the future to see if there’s a place
where the plot ever changes
and i don’t mean graves
[bridge/hook]
this is the winter of my disconnect
where all that was burned will be re-erected
reject the vapid values we’re expected to follow
if you don’t believe tomorrow
should be spent on your death bed
[verse 2]
now any scavenger chitter-chatter
flying over these wastelands painted lavender
bleak beaks and eyes like freemasons
looking for fresh cadavers on their way up jacob’s ladder
with crucifixions in hand, will find a myriad
pyramids don’t lead to the afterlife, stupid
don’t be the sacrificial cow on the short end of a toothpick
dig your roots into the surface of rotted earth
or keep it moving
before your day’s diminished on a faded calendar
elanor rigby died in a church left with only her name
father mckenzie wiped dirt from his hands
and walked from the grave
no one was saved, and n0body came
look at the lonely people
in lockstep with pockets like black holes
benign equality of evil: for whom the bell tolls
knock on their chests, all you’ll hear is echos
from the swamps of sadness, to the mountains of madness
h-ll-hounds of baskervilles – the universe stands still
ask atlas if he doesn’t take an advil
migraine like an anvil
burning both ends of a candle that lights the way to my cave
my own personal notre dame
i wait for the dawn, but it doesn’t stay long
eclipsed by the night where the stars are drawn
like the notes of a celestial song
i rip the pages out my captain’s log only to jump ship
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