The moon rises and hides in the soul,
A dream is left hanging on the gallows of consciousness,
The sunset dying on your lips as you grace the sky
With a smile that is really a grimace.
Treason is in every bed,
Just like death tangles with everyone.
The moon rises and hides in the soul,
A dream is left hanging on the gallows of consciousness,
The sunset dying on your lips as you grace the sky
With a smile that is really a grimace.
Treason is in every bed,
Just like death tangles with everyone.