The Mars Volta

Don’t you pretend that i’m not alive my bones never ache unless she’s nearby where is your face in a safe of dead tongues i can see your reflection in your totem first born i suspect you’ve been carrying a pack of wolves i regret not killing you while i had the chance

maybe i will always haunt you mark the somnolence with truth better hang your dead palace than have a living home to lose in the river ganges god damns my name

don’t let these hands sharpen your eyes a rasp of tails