the heart’s in arrest and the mind’s been suppressed
stagger on home to your games and your lies
there can be no reply to the one who’s spirit’s died
but a ragged breathing follows the last gust of wind
the moon’s still red with the blood of his sin
the punk’s in denial, in his mouth he tastes bile
he’s come back to reality, no time for formality
a quick glance down, and his heart makes a sound
awakening thoughts from a time before lives were worth dimes
the wind howls its approval, but the world disagrees.
‘cause the punk’s dragging home a body that breaths
can a wrong almost done be reproved in full amnesty
the kid had been ‘happy’ before this whole incident
or so he thought
yet the kid bought all the prevaricating idols
he never knew what he sought
so he thought that he had it