Lletres: Mars Volta. A Vicarious Atonement.

Don't you pretend
that i'm not alive
my bones never ache
unless she's nearby
where is your face
in a safe of dead tongues
i can see your reflection
in your totem first born
i suspect
you've been carrying a pack of wolves
i regret
not killing you while i had the chance

maybe i will always haunt you
mark the somnolence with truth
better hang your dead palace
than have a living home to lose
in the river ganges god damns my name

don't let these hands
sharpen your eyes
a rasp of tails