Water
Guitar strings broken,
tearing into silence without a melody
like water designed to never flow
and my sins can never be forgiven.
Even holy water fades away,
gives way to filth when it falls on me;
and all I want is to be saved, absolved,
hide from the sunlight
flow underground,
In streams or gutters, I can't choose.
Is it too late?
Am I still rejected?
Destined for a hell I didn't ask for?
Falling on my own sword, for no fault of my own?
Holy. Filthy. What is it that falls on me?
Can water be torn, broken, shattered,
like glass, like mirrors,
like shadows in the light
Im here, in front of you, waiting, waiting
In denial
Is there more to this than it seems?
Are these still waters that run deep?
But i know the truth,
The hour's eleven,
and the sun hasnt risen
And you were my sin
Holy. Filthy. What is it that falls on me?
Perverted, shining like a vulgar diamond,
Blinded me to believe in an illusion there wasnt
And I wonder if this ugliness will ever be washed away
Holy.
Filthy.
What is it that falls on me?