Cold brains,
Unmoved,
Untouched,
Unglued,
Alone at last.
No thoughts,
No mind,
To rot
Behind
A trail of disasters.
A final the curse,
Abandoned hearse,
We ride disowned,
Corroded to the bone.
The fields
Of green
Are bent,
Obscene,
I lay upon the gravel.
A worm of hope,
A hangman's rope
Pulls me one way or the other.
A final curse,
Abandoned hearse,
We write this song,
Corroded to the bone.
A bird
Of song
Is heard
No longer
In the evacuated heavens.
And the drain
Is drawn,
And drained
And gone,
And on and on, it doesn't matter.
A final curse,
Abandoned hearse,
We rock the salt,
Corroded to the bone.
Writer(s): Beck David Hansen
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