The Musings on Purgatory’s Bench
All stars, every star
Only rusted colors recall their knowledge
Watchmen sent from above
Golden constellations kept me as I was
But not as I am
Not who lives under these eyes
I’m not who I am
Not these sunken, blackened eyes
I’m bunkered in a broken chapel
Dwindling among teeth-scratched sadness
But I feel, I feel, I feel, I feel
That twinge of white
Spark against my heart
Innocence whispers
My war is all for you
The glowing fort shines
Pleading for my spirit to come into the sun
So orange and free
Clocks break the news and my sickly skin
But there’s the lock binding my hands
To undesired devotion
But not as I am
Not who lives under these eyes
I’m not who I am
Not these sunken, blackened eyes
I’m bunkered in a broken chapel
Dwindling among teeth-scratched sadness
But I feel, I feel, I feel, I feel
That twinge of white
Spark against my heart
Innocence whispers
My war is all for you
Whoa; real wars are no such guide
Whoa; vintage bliss is all I need
Whoa; you are my constellation
Whoa; Now I’ll follow the moon toward home
I’m bunkered in a broken chapel
Dwindling among teeth-scratched sadness
But I feel, I feel, I feel, I feel
That twinge of white
Spark against my heart
Innocence whispers
My war is all for you
In Cities 