Letra da Música: Miranda That Ghost Just Isn't Holy Anymore: B. pour another icepick - The Mars Volta

I think I've become one of the others
I think I've become one of the others
I think I've become one of the others

There was a frail syrup dripping off his lap danced lapel
punctuated by her decrepit prowl
she washed down the hatching
Gizzard soft as a mane of needles
His orifice icicles hemorrhaged
By combing her torso to a pile
Perspired the trophy shelves made room for his collapse
She was a mink handjob in sarcophagus heels...

Bring me to my knees
Read the sharpened lines
All my arms
Bled me blind

Faucet leaks in shadows
Spilling from morgue lancet
Caressed your fontanelle

I've sworn to kill
Every last one
Every last one

Panic in the shakes of the wounded
Panic in the worms
Onto the floor
And out of your mouth
Out of your eyelids

No there's no light
In the darkest of your furthest reaches
No there's no light
In the darkest of your furthest reaches

All your dreams
splintered off
Leech by leech
On this catafalque

Anyone will tell you
Yes anyone
Chance had me setting a trip wire alarm

Your mother flirted with disease
When she skinned that costume by it's navel strings

Panic in the shakes of the wounded
Panic in the worms
Onto the floor
And out of your mouth
Out of your eyelids

No there's no light
In the darkest of your furthest reaches
No there's no light
In the darkest of your furthest reaches
No there's no light
In the darkest of your furthest reaches
No there's no light
In the darkest of your furthest reaches

Shockless shackles free you
Fools taste tongues
I better leave you again,
I won't be owned
Not this time

Shock lest shackles free you
Volt face cons
abandon you again
I won't feel
not this time