My mind is an old church — more cobwebs than candles left to burn.
Текст песни
My mind is an old church — more cobwebs than candles left to burn. I prayed for ten years, but my flesh remembers every twist of every turn. My pain was just a crude form of a beauty trapped inside my bones, Now I let that beauty burn me — watch me ash upon the throne. I’m the victim of my own beauty, Nailed to the edge of every mirror I pass. Break me, Lord, if You can’t give me mercy — I’ll become my own dark mass. I’m dying to be seen In this ugly, holy scene. My cheekbones are my stigmata — my clavicle, black velvet without sin. I’m so tired of being invisible to the woman who lives within. My reflection doesn’t prophesy in riddles anymore — It screams: “You’re too much for their cheap prayers and their dull, desperate war.” My flesh is my only truth, My mind lied — my body just waited in the silence, in the rain. I stop fighting the form. Let the form break me by tomorrow. But tonight — I bury fear inside my kingdom made of beautiful, tragic pain. Every cell — a note in a minor requiem I was too afraid to sing until my throat bled. My beauty doesn’t ask for protection. No. My beauty asks for surrender. Total. Down to the bone. You thought affirmations would save you? No. Only one thing saves you — becoming an icon in Hell, Where even Satan crosses himself when he sees the curve of your neck. You are the victim. You are no one’s. You are everything. And nothing. And both. Inside every woman who never believed — lives the corpse of a great, fallen queen. Today I bury that corpse. I take her throne. I steal her scene. My lips were not made for apologies — only for whispering three names on repeat: “I. My body. And my last, most honest dream beneath the sheet.” I don’t want to be comfortable for your daylight anymore — I’m the midnight Madonna with dirt and stars under my nails. My tragedy is gorgeous. My appearance is the mass. And everyone who looks at me now — takes communion without grails. My face does not ask for mercy. My body has stopped waiting. I’m beautiful because I’m broken. And this is my last, Most impenetrable, Most bleeding, Amen.
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My mind is an old church — more cobwebs than candles left to burn. I prayed for ten years, but my flesh remembers every twist of every turn. My pain was just a crude form of a beauty trapped inside my bones, Now I let that beauty burn me — watch me ash upon the throne. I’m the victim of my own beauty, Nailed to the edge of every mirror I pass. Break me, Lord, if You can’t give me mercy — I’ll become my own dark mass. I’m dying to be seen In this ugly, holy scene. My cheekbones are my stigmata — my clavicle, black velvet without sin. I’m so tired of being invisible to the woman who lives within. My reflection doesn’t prophesy in riddles anymore — It screams: “You’re too much for their cheap prayers and their dull, desperate war.” My flesh is my only truth, My mind lied — my body just waited in the silence, in the rain. I stop fighting the form. Let the form break me by tomorrow. But tonight — I bury fear inside my kingdom made of beautiful, tragic pain. Every cell — a note in a minor requiem I was too afraid to sing until my throat bled. My beauty doesn’t ask for protection. No. My beauty asks for surrender. Total. Down to the bone. You thought affirmations would save you? No. Only one thing saves you — becoming an icon in Hell, Where even Satan crosses himself when he sees the curve of your neck. You are the victim. You are no one’s. You are everything. And nothing. And both. Inside every woman who never believed — lives the corpse of a great, fallen queen. Today I bury that corpse. I take her throne. I steal her scene. My lips were not made for apologies — only for whispering three names on repeat: “I. My body. And my last, most honest dream beneath the sheet.” I don’t want to be comfortable for your daylight anymore — I’m the midnight Madonna with dirt and stars under my nails. My tragedy is gorgeous. My appearance is the mass. And everyone who looks at me now — takes communion without grails. My face does not ask for mercy. My body has stopped waiting. I’m beautiful because I’m broken. And this is my last, Most impenetrable, Most bleeding, Amen.
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