Vacate is a word, vengeance has no place so near to her
Cannot find a comfort in this world
Artificial tears, the vessel's stabbed, next up, volunteers
Vulnerable, wisdom can't adhere
A truant finds home
And a will to hold on
There's a trapdoor in the sun
It's immortality
As privileged as a who*e, victims in demand for public show
Swept out through the cracks beneath the door
Holier than thou, how, surrendered executed anyhow
Scrawls resolved, cigar box on the floor
A truant finds home
And a will to hold on to
There's a trapdoor in the sun...
...It's immortality
I cannot stop the thought, of running out the door
Coming up, a which way sign, and all good truants must decide
Oh stripped and sold alone, and an auctioned forearm
And whiskers in the sink
A truant finds home, and a will to hold on to
Some die just to live, oh