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The Mars Volta
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Trinkets Pale Of Moon
By the landfill I rest
I burn their clothing before I dig into the ground
I am Janus-faced denial with vines
Your gonna wish you handn't run
Clarity is calling me
I hear the hums of tiny beating drums
I feigned umbrage at my bruising fist
you'll wish you hadn't run
And with these trinkets pale of moon
senescent charms become a bludgeon of wrinkles
when I nurse your tired heart
And every time you hear the screams
of lullabies collapsing
walk towards the echo and let it hold you trembling
Their gourds are punctured easily
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amnesia fumes in little twists of silk
induce this multistrobe with melody
you'll wish you hadn't run
I sing here at the seedy urn
my father taught me when I was young
you wear the tattered fringe of hangnail regalia
you'll wish you hadn't run
And with these trinkets pale of moon
senescent charms become a bludgeon of wrinkles
when I nurse your tired heart
And every time you hear the scream
of lullabies collapsing
walk towards the echo and let it hold you trembling
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