Tippen the ice with my fault lined breath.
Cracks in the air and frequency piercing the mind.
Look at the masses letting it slip right by their faces.
Don't walk straight, don't walk straight, don't walk straight....
Into the trap, feelin' the heart attack, with panic on your back.
Burn up underneath the covers, with hope in my eyes.

Hey you.
Your condition is dire my friend.
I'd really love to touch you.
To let me know that I'm still alive.

If I could.

Beat the look right off your face. (I'd like to.)
Get away with a bag of tricks over my shoulder.
Living in the ruts elders made for us in time, in time.
Cause there's an order to this, there's an order for this.
Blister, cry, heal, rebuild, create, to fill the hole.
To fill the hole.
To let me know that it's still alive, and I'll breath tomorrow.


Hey you.
Your condition is dire my friend.
I'd really love to touch you.
To let me know that I'm still alive.
Cause you don't say much.
When your sleeves rust, exposed.
Your condition is dire my friend.
Humanity makes my stomach cringe.
Spitting teeth, spitting teeth.
Stab the city, in its sleep.
Stab the city, in its sleep.

No reason to hurt, fuck the sleep and let it populate.
Like flowers in a field, not like bad thoughts.
Like bats in a cave, dark and deep, dark and deep.
Beyond the point of scientific sleep, therapy.
It takes an idea, it takes place, in your head.

Hey you.
Your condition is dire my friend.
I'd really love to touch you.
To let me know that I'm still alive.
Hey you.
Your condition is dire my friend.
I'd really love to touch you.
To let me know that I'm still alive.

Cassandra

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