(0243) a tepid arrangement lacking in focus

i beg your pardon mister, don't you understand... that the sun is like a four-leaf clover.
it's just coughing in our direction, and its luck is not a sign of starting over.
so when you're coming up without a parachute, don't be surprised when you start falling.
you can try to cut me with that knife in your pocket but be aware that these claws are for clawing.

there will never be another reminder so make sure that you do it good.
for when the days are creeping slowly after, my love is something that should not be misunderstood.
the bomb goes off, and we go insane because there's nothing left to make us feel empty.
we close our eyes, but the feeling remains. he says it's like a death sentence that his outer shell is ugly.

his heart is like a big umbrella that just melts with the slightest taste of rain.
he'll cut his nose off to spite his face, but when the moment comes, he won't be afraid.
the clock is always calling out his name. it always gets the last laugh at the end of the day.
i know exactly what it is i need and want, but i never have the words to say.

told you twice to cut it out. i drift in and out of consciousness without ever losing sight.
and if i ever had a story to tell, then tonight would be the perfect night.
run with me until we've gotten far away from here, and we'll take shelter in a serotonin storm.
weather man says it's getting very cold outside, but for some reason, i feel very warm.

make believe i'm someone else inside this place because being myself here would never get me by.
i'm just an orphan of my own condition. i'm just a scab growing over your eyes.
it's not my fault if i'm not worth any emotion. i walk a thin line inside my head.
but i'm not getting closer to the land of contentment. no, it's a lie that we've been told instead.

there's blood pouring out from your eyes and a stomach, hollow and alone.
i'll keep you in the safeness of my words. there's nothing quite as pure; nothing quite as gold.
the dirt has been filling up my veins; contaminating me like pesticide.
filtered through the hands that carry the disease in your sharpened, darkened eyes.

and if you think you'll be able to escape, then i've got something to work its way through the layers of your skin.
a piece of paper and a pen. a piece of paper and a pen. i take a pen and write it down on paper, and it begins.
the world seems to fall away - the world that you can't notice.
you contort to the sound of these death chords. a tepid arrangement lacking in focus.