Drunk on the blood Stuck to the rug He vomits nostalgia As the casualties Watch him seethe With careful curiosity With a raw dialogue An effort to waste He gives his sermon But his words are pointless To the sober conscience They breathe the same air All is mind as mind is all Flesh is stone as stone is flesh Pain is real as real is pain In a sad awakening He finds a window God its mourning All thoughts pierce As memories are scarce And the cuts have dried out But the terror or The nights he lost Still hands his head low Drunk on the rug Stuck to the blood He vomits nostalgia I waited so long for something to seem real I had so many questions I answered all my questions When I seen your face turn And I knew what was real And I knew what was lost Yes I know what was real
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