Music World
 
Find Artists:
 
 
 
Russian versionSwitch to Russian 
The Bled




Music World  →  Lyrics  →  T  →  The Bled  →  Albums  →  Pass The Flask

The Bled Album


Pass The Flask (2003)
2003
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
. . .



You are the teeth and the lungs.
Biting back and breathing in.
Cracked like a frozen moon.
The heat lampseeps into the pores.
This is your interrogation your fingerprints betray your eyes.
Died on your honeymoon she made such a lovely bride.
Left the door unlocked for you.
The leeches took their turn.
Deny.
Your alibi was painted by a blind politician.
Inside your swollen eyes sleeps a genius buried by miscalculations.
You are the teeth and the lungs.
Biting back and breathing in.
Your love is homicide.
Your love is homicide.
You are the teeth and the lungs.
Biting back and breathing in.
The queen is beckoning, get on your knees and beg for your life.
You are the teeth and the lungs.
Biting back and breathing in.
Your love is homicide.
Your love is homicide.
You are the teeth and the lungs.
Biting back and breathing in.
The queen is beckoning, get on your knees and beg for your life.
You will pay the price.
Close your eyes and die.
You will pay the price.

. . .



The signal flares will light the way to the scene of the accident,
where we'll dance like a pile of teeth in a broken mouth.
Such a sick celebration.
Everyone loves a fucking tragedy in epic proportions.
Let's set our hearts at self-destruct.
Like scarlet drips on a white tile floor.
A cardiac metronome.
We'll scrape the guardrail from our teeth and start again.
There's a flood in the infirmary where we'll swim through broken glass.
Our prosthetic limbs will keep us afloat.

. . .



Slowly we peel away the layers and the light seeps through the cracks.
You whispered softly in my ear "the birth of morning's upon us, dear,"
the bandages feel upon the floor.
And there was no one in that room.
And It's quiet down the hallway where the doctors wash their hands.
Behind my eyes I feel the hollow jabs of your morphine kiss.
Your anesthetic name is autographed upon my bones.
This reception died in vein.
In vein.
A tarnished angel leaves her ghost on the surface.
A jealous daughter starves to death, for the mother,
as I awaited your return.
I wait for your return.
It seems the only way that I will ever feel alive.
To throw myself into my injuries and close my eyes.
I'd give anything to feel alive.
And I will wait for you tonight.
The scalpel carves a map for you.
A map for you.

. . .



Somewhere between the frozen layers sleeps a fragile woman.
Waiting for her husband to remove the shards of glass.
The sun betrays the light that it once shed.
And daughter cuts the hair.
Tangled in a silver brush.
Spitting at a broken mirror.
I feel the movement of ghosts in the room.
She keeps a photograph locked in her mouth.
The smell of turpentine drips from the walls.
Forgive and forget.
Relive and regret.
You're not alone.
I've seen the dead arise.

. . .



Waiting for the sun to set my wings ablaze.
The show must go on.
The funeral needs a star.
Tonight I have become the gossip and the choir.
The useless and the used.
The one who reaches for her arms.
I am denial.
You are the one who fell from grace for them.
Is there a reason why?
The funeral needs a star.
As you walk away for the last time
could you hear my heart consumed behind you?
As you turn your back from the dying
did you feel the sun burn out inside you?
You set my wings ablaze.
You will run from familiar arms into their embrace.
I hope they love you like I did when you needed me

. . .



I'd burn alive to keep you warm when you're alone.
Shiver under blankets in the basement where our secrets sleep.
You pour the liquor on the staircase, girl.
Pass the flask and close your eyes.
Are you grieving for what we've become?
Are you running from that room?
We set the evidence on fire.
We light cigarettes and chase out old regrets.
Are you grieving for tonight?
I smell the sulfur on her skin (breathe in).
Yesterday will be the end of you and I.
Yesterday will be the end of shoulders where we rest our head.
Now we grieve for tomorrow goes on without us.
Now we breathe for no one else.
Everything is broken slowly sinking under waiting for tomorrow
waiting for the grave to tell me that she's lonely.
Open up and hold me slowly feel my body becoming one and only.
Death is just an excuse to forget you.
Now we run from ourselves.
Hope lies not in the mirror.

. . .



The telephone swallowed the child.
This is the last time I say your name.
The crackle and hiss from the walls.
You smile like a catholic in heat.
Just don't forget what you've done.
Just don't forget.
This is the last time that I say your name.
Forget the fuck away from me.

. . .



I lost my voice in the fire.
I burned my eyes staring at your eclipse.
I was just a child.
My father's favorite.
Such delicate arms keep reaching toward the horizon.
As we keep starving for this beauty, we are sick with distance.
Starving for this beauty.
We are sick with distance.
Grieving for his failure.
We are sick with distance.
You keep me on my knees,waiting for, waiting for.
You keep me on my knees mummified in your arms.
You keep me on my knees,waiting for, begging for.
This is the last chance that you will get to say my name into his chest.
I lost my voice in the fire.
I burned my eyes staring at your eclipse.
I was just a child.
My father's favorite.
Such delicate arms keep reaching toward the horizon.
Only the deaf find peace.

. . .



You will plug me in and turn me on.
Turn on me.
I am your device of manufactured hope.
You plug me in and turn me into wires and blood.
I am your trophy wife shaking hands with your guests.
Hi my name is "yours".
The unfortunate ones will be spared.
We are the industry.
I'm sorry your name is not on the list.
Your results do not comply.
Your ashes will fuel the machine.
We are the industry.

. . .



Your eyes being to stare at the polygraph machine
as you become aware of the satellites that call her name.
It's as if the ocean swallowed the city lights that we fell in love with.
Paralyzed and paranoid, we withdraw the hands we held.
This is beginning to get ugly, dear.
You feed me to the lions.
Now the tongue becomes the bridge between broken teeth.
Now you feed me to the lions.
How we reach for the arms but only clasp the knees.
How we reach for each other only to die alone.
How we reach for the stars only to swim right through.
How we strive to connect only to fall apart.
Just between me and you I felt the rapture in your arms.

. . .


blog comments powered by Disqus



© 2011 Music World. All rights reserved.