Im standing on the platform
And theres a pile of trash bags
Swollen with former objects of desire
Stripped of office, like corrupted priests
In black plastic vestments
And cast out to vagrancy
So now they wait with me
Twitching with the palsy
Of the rats in their guts
That shriek as the train approaches
To take me home
Theres a negative copy of me
In a bus station on a dusty plain
A thousand miles away
And one day well meet
Swept up by different flags
Well lock eyes through gunsights
And I wonder which one of us
Will die beneath the others knives
And I hope it will be him
Its not personal
But Ill rip your throat out if I have to
Ill tear your guts out if Im asked to
Youll rip my throat out if you have to
Youll tear my guts out if youre asked to
Its nothing personal
Because were both the same
Lemmings rushing away from a mirror
And towards a cliff
This lyric was posted anonymously. Not yet confirmed by Book of Metal.
