II. Little Frames
from The Candleman and the Curtain by The Earth and I
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lyrics
Hung up on what I’ve done,
and so I’ve erased me from all history,
consigned to this space
from which I can’t escape.
I’ve made this bed where I wait,
hunted for bloodlust
towards a world turned to dust,
for which I am accused, a fucking recluse.
All I have are unseeing eyes.
Faces face each other inside this rusted locket.
Desperate to feel it again,
(She’s out there, she’s out there.)
with each memory I invent.
(Replay it, replay it.)
I’ve been bound by each little frame,
every death condemned to the same
expiration date.
Iridescent glow, faint Candlelight
through the Curtain, thin and worn,
keeps me awake at night.
Iridescent glow, faint Candlelight
through the Curtain, thin and worn,
keeps me awake at night.
Pull the blanket over my eyes.
Tightly spun, woven through
the fragile memories
of leaving the world behind,
we’ve become the severed threads
of a world at bay, a tapestry waiting to fray.
Lock the doors; I’ve swallowed the Key.
They are not men, but wolves who burn
on less sacred cleansing ground, like dust.
The midnight sun shines through the drapery,
tightly drawn, I’m drawn to it:
A burning vagrant in the desert haze,
who wanders in the sun, lost.
Measure me. I am not the answer to
your dreams. Measure me:
Imperfect soul, imperfect body,
a perfect sacrifice for a fool.
Lost with no way out, replace this apathy.
With the stoic sorrow of an acquiescent heart,
I wait, as a moth, drawn to the flame,
a soul, bound to the grave.
This bed that I have made is a coffin.
You cannot mend a heart
if it hasn’t been broken, if it hasn’t been broken.
Countless tales interred below the sand
persist as solemn souvenirs
of every frame you’ve tried to mend
with faulty tools in hand.
I’ve been bound by each little frame,
every death condemned to the same
expiration date.
Tightly spun, woven through
the fragile memories
of leaving the world behind,
we’ve become the severed threads
of a world at bay, a tapestry waiting to fray.
and so I’ve erased me from all history,
consigned to this space
from which I can’t escape.
I’ve made this bed where I wait,
hunted for bloodlust
towards a world turned to dust,
for which I am accused, a fucking recluse.
All I have are unseeing eyes.
Faces face each other inside this rusted locket.
Desperate to feel it again,
(She’s out there, she’s out there.)
with each memory I invent.
(Replay it, replay it.)
I’ve been bound by each little frame,
every death condemned to the same
expiration date.
Iridescent glow, faint Candlelight
through the Curtain, thin and worn,
keeps me awake at night.
Iridescent glow, faint Candlelight
through the Curtain, thin and worn,
keeps me awake at night.
Pull the blanket over my eyes.
Tightly spun, woven through
the fragile memories
of leaving the world behind,
we’ve become the severed threads
of a world at bay, a tapestry waiting to fray.
Lock the doors; I’ve swallowed the Key.
They are not men, but wolves who burn
on less sacred cleansing ground, like dust.
The midnight sun shines through the drapery,
tightly drawn, I’m drawn to it:
A burning vagrant in the desert haze,
who wanders in the sun, lost.
Measure me. I am not the answer to
your dreams. Measure me:
Imperfect soul, imperfect body,
a perfect sacrifice for a fool.
Lost with no way out, replace this apathy.
With the stoic sorrow of an acquiescent heart,
I wait, as a moth, drawn to the flame,
a soul, bound to the grave.
This bed that I have made is a coffin.
You cannot mend a heart
if it hasn’t been broken, if it hasn’t been broken.
Countless tales interred below the sand
persist as solemn souvenirs
of every frame you’ve tried to mend
with faulty tools in hand.
I’ve been bound by each little frame,
every death condemned to the same
expiration date.
Tightly spun, woven through
the fragile memories
of leaving the world behind,
we’ve become the severed threads
of a world at bay, a tapestry waiting to fray.
credits
from The Candleman and the Curtain,
released April 13, 2018
license
all rights reserved
tags
discography
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Apr 2020 -
Apr 2018 -
Nov 2017 -
Mar 2017
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