Из альбома: Septic VII
A perfect seed for perfect soil
I sometimes wonder what you thought you’ve coiled
Volunteered with hopes and fear
You almost steered away and clear
Devotional and premature
You shared with me your own pipe dreams
Preconceived — false destinies
You must’ve known, I’m not what I seem
This strange, new fate has drained from you
All you expect, all you can do And finally this circle bent
It twist and turned to meet its end
The perfect weed for this spoiling soil
Killing off its own mortal coil
A lucid move slashed off the feed
You must’ve known, I’m not a seed
You tore this need away from me And left a hole for all to see
Now I will steal what you can’t be And fill this hollow void in me You tore this need away from me And left a hole for all to see
Now I will steal what you can’t feed
You must’ve known, I have no need