We all hang our heads
as death plays his violin
stroking life as we live

Blood and sweat
we sit and rust
as death is left to stroke our lives

Melody of life
stroking the string of death

The hymn
the static that’s all that’s left
as the ghosts of our pasts march on

Come I’ll take you away
into a world of nightmares
and make-believe
come into my garden of lairs
lay your head on my pillow of shame
sleep without rest in my visions of dread
Come I’ll take thy away into my garden of shame
and I’ll show you your sinful ways
make you change your dreadful ways

Sings
a song
a melody
of dark and dreary days
of slumber and of nightmares.

With two tiny dancers
dancing in my head
wavering for not a moment
stopping not even a second.

Dance for me my tiny dancers
sign me my melody
of lovers heart-broken and beaten.

I found a crack
a key hole
and now with a key in my hand
I open the lid
to hear the melody
but with tears and sorrow
I bow my head
for my music box its broken
as for my heart its been shaken
no song
no melody
comes from my music box
it must have already been broken.

you’ve heard of the dark side of moon right?
Well welcome to the darker side of cloud nine
floating above the dime
and leaving you a penny for your time.

Think before you take the leap
and know that the clouds not as soft as it looks
and that you have a one to go before you hit the ten.
and a moment awaits you when an
Oh no!
comes from your lips
before you hit that ten.

The black rose leaching over its bitter dinner.
as the Caterpillar slowly eats at the roses center,
and its blackened blood flows and drips down its thorny bush;
and Alice ran from the roses as they accuse her of being a weed,
run Alice run!
The roses bite if they don’t like you,
so lesson to Alice and she will tell you.
Such beauty they hold but where there is beauty their thorns will prick you.
Roses and Poses all in a pretty row
and the weeds and roots will always be there to smother you.

Death will reap what we sew
Like a gear
a wheel of life.

Grinding and grinding so fast its winding
the gears grind to the bone
cleaning out our closets.

We go
deeper and deeper
into a darker place.

In such times as these
the gears will grind.

Grinding still my gears of time
grind for me,
my skeletons ;
wheels and gears,
grinding like no other will.

Grinding and grinding so fast its winding
down into the darkness with a peel of grimy water
but mud is left to drink.

Death reaps what we sew
as We wear our demons
but with nothing to sew.