A parasite that's lost its appetite
With what he calls his own
Being yours to clean for
With what he calls his own

A parasite that's lost, lost its appetite
With what he calls his own
Calls his own
Being yours to clean for

Walk with a weapon and fight just to see
What draws the line
Between the now and yesterday

Scenes from the past
Premonitions all too real
Real, real, real, real, real

We dwell like antique paintings older every day
Until a thief steals you from the wall

Until a thief steals you from the wall
In the shadows of creative eclipses
I've noticed your handwriting improve
Over the years
Over the years
Though sometimes I can still smell shit in the ink

I can't clean this stain of a little boy
And sadly I am trapped in here for good
Locked my door and read these cryptic pieces
A hundred-thousand times more

For every sundown that crutches the awake
Simmering the need of peace and lightly seasoning
Our bodies back to bed

Aimless is the mind on porcelain
Aimless is the mind on porcelain pillows
Aimless is the mind on porcelain
Aimless is the mind on porcelain
And we dwell like antique paintings
Older every day
Older every day