Theres a light in the shed that should help you find your
way, And through this door you deserve a beating through
the Machine. And little did you once know in the race for the
telephone, In the dark they have watched us from here
beyond the grave, To bare the marks of His work are the
Watchmen of our ways, That which we feels untrue, if its me
then it isnt you. Lay down, relax, come on, how? What you
thought once was yours is now ours.
Stay with me to guide this dream,
Before they bury me,
Ill be waiting up all night for you.
In a nightmare that was made for me,
In the call, of her screams should we leave and let them be, Is her life worth
as much as we once wished to believe? So is it or isnt so am I
dead now here in the snow. In the fould of their play will then
justice be engraved? To bare the walk on the way to the killer
and his blade.
