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Get Well Soon

Seneca's Silence

Oh it touches, itches, bites and
wastes the time
Trying not to be in love with
what is mine
With sirens singing

All the big things that we hate,
We cry about
Will turn to gold if we just
Leave them out

Then let's hope his silence is
With us tonight
I'll bring the camera; can you
Hold the light?

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The dusty pages of the book
That wakes the dead
Say don't hold dear the times
That we once had

It's a pleasure hoping for
The things to come
A little patience and
The blood will run

Then let's hope his silence is
With us tonight
I'll bring the poison; can you
Bring the knife?