That hallway, dark and silent. Like the grave it is my tomb and no resting place.
It has become my church, wooden floors, sacred asylum.
If I crawl down the stairs and find the ornament snake.
Lay a stone upon its shining head and wipe the running blood from my neck.
To be free finally, safe and sound, disbelieve all I see, my own eyes.
The walls are written white with chalk.
The dust in the air will choke if I walk through the mausoleum.
Lay a stone upon its shining head and wipe the running blood from my neck.
To be free finally, safe and sound, disbelieve all I see, my own eyes.
If I crawl down the stairs, close my eyes, find the ornament snake bound in lies.
Nail the tail to the door. Home at last...
It has become my church, wooden floors, sacred asylum.
If I crawl down the stairs and find the ornament snake.
Lay a stone upon its shining head and wipe the running blood from my neck.
To be free finally, safe and sound, disbelieve all I see, my own eyes.
The walls are written white with chalk.
The dust in the air will choke if I walk through the mausoleum.
Lay a stone upon its shining head and wipe the running blood from my neck.
To be free finally, safe and sound, disbelieve all I see, my own eyes.
If I crawl down the stairs, close my eyes, find the ornament snake bound in lies.
Nail the tail to the door. Home at last...