Canvases and caverns
Concave inversions
Humid ontologies
Reside in reverse order
It's all imperfect
This i’m certain of
All is becoming
For total recovery
Is but a blind man’s fortune
And a soul is no surgeon
A thousand years later
And still no progress
Worth speaking of
What’s the matter with your heart
Is it a faulty circuit
Or did a fuse blow in the dark
We are all targets of uncertainty
Fallen upon piles of confusion
Still i am grateful
To be ruined by your love