[blessed chains on my wrists, marked for death, motherless;
open sores, burned out heart; dark design, guiding star...]
like the furthest ring from saturn, i cling by a thread,
and fragile as my sense of self is, i could leave my head any time..
every vessel cursed at birth with failure by design,
and all my lifetimes' masquerading rotted out my mind.
you want the truth?
you're heading down that flight of stairs like all the rest;
your heavy heart's like a rock to the sea, forgotten just the same as me;
but i'll eject and plant that seed before that fate becomes of me.
you want the truth?
you're heading down that flight of stairs like all the rest,
your heavy heart's like a rock to the sea,
but you want more, an open end to the tome you write?
then change your ink and scrawl our names in cyanide.