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Silent Planet
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Nervosa
Look straight through me -- look at the nightmare.
Out past is but a dream that we're trying to escape,
trying to evade to erase ourselves.
Look through me and see the advent of our obsessions.
Behold, your child, perfection -- a rotting shell of atrophy.
Watching: Crowds like crows, we furiously flock to tragedy;
observe the hurt then hasten back to our peaceful, quiet nests
of blasphemy. Scapegoat: Rather die and know,
drag your failing body in tow -- witnessing the wake,
conflagrate the ready oil at the stake.
Binging: The culmination of purging what our lusts have borne.
We hoarded all the world to find we'd lost any semblance of ourselves.
This dying dance.
I am not my own reflection. I am not myself, I am not myself.
No, I am haunted by a non-existent Lover: The spectre, the ghost, the soul --
starving host. I am haunted by a non-existent lover.
I was gifted with the vision, but cursed to be the witness.
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I'll be pale to match the walls and warped to trace the beams;
flushed to fit across the floor so you can step right over me.
Scouring this filthy slate these crooked bones they won't break straight --
cracked and splintered like our house, unpended by that first summer squall.
Fading: so thin, you could snap me into the shape you need --
gaunt enough to slide through that wedding dress.
Then stitch me to a fraying matrimony embalmed inside a never-ending ceremony.
I am not my own reflection. I am not myself, I am not myself.
No, I am haunted by a non-existent Lover: The spectre, the ghost,
the soul-starving host. I am haunted by a non-existent lover.
I was gifted with the vision but cursed to be the witness.
Invisible to me... invisible to me... invisible to me.
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