I go to the same places.
Every night I see the same faces,
like the walls of a church made of bone
I kneel at this eerie altar alone,
where the skulls always smile
and say they haven’t seen me in a while,
and I saddle the bar like a throne.
But she’s always changing like a bee changes flowers
She is always new, one of the few who feels free to be sweet
or absolutely sour.
That is her power.
That is her power.
That is her power.
There is a road less taken.
There is a fallen star forsaken.
There is a begging hand outreaching.
My ears are deaf to these preachings.
where the skulls always smile
and say they haven’t seen me in a while
But you can’t learn what no one is teaching.
But she’s always changing like a bee changes flowers
She is always new, one of the few who feels free to be sweet
or absolutely sour.
That is her power.
That is her power.
That is her power.
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