...

They know it's a letterbomb hand me down.
This thought is a perjury blindfold.
When she crawls from the Himalayan rain,
with her birds of prey and weapons on a fire.
She's ridin' a landslide down to me,
cutting the shackles off of me.
Shakin' the dead birds from the trees,
she's taking the only air I breathe.

Iron lungs and a plate glass sermon.
Don't call it death on the installment plan.
She pulling the armor from my back,
raking the coals over the tracks,
taking the knife out from the stack,
she's bringing the blood that I had back.

She's coming to see it's all a sin.
Comin' to see the sun again.
Comin' to watch it off again.
Comin' to see herself again.
Comin' to see herself again.
Comin' to watch it off again.

...

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