We are not alone inside these ugly yellow walls

Portraits of our past selves caught in marked up bathroom stalls

Post apocalyptic visions spread like creeper vines

Postulating bullets for the sake of bottom lines

There's a shape I can't see in the back of my mind

And it's a strange thing waiting

She has grown forty heads

And they push till I bend into a darkness waiting

In the landscape of a memory

Is the story were fed by the child who's half dead

In this fiction is contrition

Is it plastic we bled through the holes in our heads

Speaking through a channel on an endless gramophone

Voices of your past selves crackle through these ancient bones

Patiently you pass the panicked people in the rain

Masochistic weldings of a scar and I'm the same

Fill my song with your words, it's so strange and absurd

I'm not flattered, it's depressing

Letting friends in your bed shape your heart

Think ahead to the poison they're making

So hypnotic, cold and caustic

What you build in your head manifests as your thread

People creeping in the shadows

Try to drink them away but I can't and they stay

Sell the shattered fragments of my memory for a gun

Schizophrenic shadows shaping saviors on this run

Tulpamancing talons drain the reason from their vein

Taking tattered parchments from the book of our remains

Spilling pictures of grey onto canvas and space

Collaging memories, waiting

Paint the panic we feel

Into something that's real

Till its a fashion, aching

Seeking focus on the borders of the places we hid

Drawing masks on our skin

They are moving in a cycle

Pushed and pulled in the tide

Waves of motion collide