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Description
What to do today?

When the world lays at your feet, but all you can see are the walls.
All the colors seem duller, and nobody calls.

Trying to figure out meanings for your meaningless thoughts.
Mind so full of loopholes you're ending up lost.

Those pieces of someday, and never, and now.
Like wolf tracks in snow, forgotten somehow.

Yesterday is the painting where you thought you belonged.
But like Dorian Gray, you're singing sad songs.

Thumbing old photographs plastered on walls
Your muse is locked out, there’s no key to your halls.

Your head is filled with iron and tremulous stone.
Then why does it trouble you, when you're alone?

Anesthesia is the answer to that question you’ve asked
Zombie lovers never bother to make the night last.

This desire is like velvet against a leper's skin.
Fresh blood never listens, it will always gush in.

Your heart is ragged bruised up and surrounded by fire.
But your foolish reliance will make you a liar.

It's the mourning sun who will wake you from dreams
(Tell the moon, that his pillow ripped apart at the seams.)

What to do in the end?
When you’re feeling alright?

Just shut the closet door when you turn out the light...

Description
What to do today?

When the world lays at your feet, but all you can see are the walls.
All the colors seem duller, and nobody calls.

Trying to figure out meanings for your meaningless thoughts.
Mind so full of loopholes you're ending up lost.

Those pieces of someday, and never, and now.
Like wolf tracks in snow, forgotten somehow.

Yesterday is the painting where you thought you belonged.
But like Dorian Gray, you're singing sad songs.

Thumbing old photographs plastered on walls
Your muse is locked out, there’s no key to your halls.

Your head is filled with iron and tremulous stone.
Then why does it trouble you, when you're alone?

Anesthesia is the answer to that question you’ve asked
Zombie lovers never bother to make the night last.

This desire is like velvet against a leper's skin.
Fresh blood never listens, it will always gush in.

Your heart is ragged bruised up and surrounded by fire.
But your foolish reliance will make you a liar.

It's the mourning sun who will wake you from dreams
(Tell the moon, that his pillow ripped apart at the seams.)

What to do in the end?
When you’re feeling alright?

Just shut the closet door when you turn out the light...