 In the shadow of these black suburban hills,
Dreamt by architects who've given up their will,
There's an emptiness that never can be filled,
Have you ever known the world to be so still,
Have you ever heard a silence be so shrill,
As you rise to smell the air before a kill,
In the absence of distraction or a thrill.
Always your, first instinct,
Compels you to jump, head first in,
The comfort you crave, is not in the grave,
But here in my arms.
In the moments when your vices are allayed,
Are you left abandoned and afraid,
Do you question the decisions that you've made,
Are you haunted by the ghost that you've betrayed.
Always your, first instinct,
Compels you to jump, head first in,
The comfort you crave, is not in the grave,
But here in my arms.
Have you ever known the world to be so still,
Have you ever heard a silence be so shrill,
As you rise to smell the air before a kill,
In the absence of distraction or a thrill.
Always your, first instinct,
Compels you to dump, all hope and jump,
The comfort you crave, is not in the grave,
But here in my arms.
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