Drunk on the blood

Stuck to the rug

He vomits nostalgia

As the casualties

Watch him seethe

With careful curiosity

With a raw dialogue

An effort to waste

He gives his sermon

But his words are pointless

To the sober conscience

They breathe the same air

All is mind as mind is all

Flesh is stone as stone is flesh

Pain is real as real is pain

In a sad awakening

He finds a window

God its mourning

All thoughts pierce

As memories are scarce

And the cuts have dried out

But the terror or

The nights he lost

Still hands his head low

Drunk on the rug

Stuck to the blood

He vomits nostalgia

I waited so long for something to seem real

I had so many questions

I answered all my questions

When I seen your face turn

And I knew what was real

And I knew what was lost

Yes I know what was real