TALK OF THE STORM WON'T LEAVE THE SCARS IT USED TO WORDS FATUOUS AT FIRST GLANCE ARE LEFT TO GREET EACH OTHER
THE SHOUT IN THE DESERT DISTANT DISTORTED AT THE TOP OF THE CHAIN YOUR THREAT SEEMS CONTRIVED
WATER RISING HE MAKES A FOOL OF HIMSELF IN OUR EYES AND THEIRS I DON'T MIND HAVING A LAUGH AT THIS NEVER TO NOTICE THE SOAKING CLOTH ON HIS SHOULDER I WAKE UP AS THE WIND MAKES HIM LOUDER
LOSING SIGHT OF THESE THORNS LEAVES ME WANDERING IN CIRCLES LOSING SIGHT OF THIS BLOOD PULLS ME UNDER WATER