Now the wick has burned out
That brings light into life
There's a stepping aside

It incriminate hope
It needs to you hear this
Where fact is opinion

Like a force of god
Like a whimpered injury
Like a tourniquet tight

No defined lines
No cowering envy
Just a whisper of modern enervation

Then the wind blows out
Everything is perfect now
It just lays itself down

Of a fledged sound
Of a hatred kept
Goes in infinitely now

Like a force of god
Like a whimpered injury
Like a tourniquet tight

No defined lines
No cowering envy
Just a whisper of modern enervation

Then the wind blows out
Everything is perfect now
It just lays itself down

Of a fledged sound
Of a hatred kept
Goes in infinitely now