Drunk on the blood
Stuck to the rug
He vomits nostalgia

As the casualties
Watch him seethe
With careful curiosity

With a raw dialogue
An effort to waste
He gives his sermon

But his words are pointless
To the sober conscience
They breathe the same air

All is mind as mind is all
Flesh is stone as stone is flesh
Pain is real as real is pain

In a sad awakening
He finds a window
God its mourning

All thoughts pierce
As memories are scarce
And the cuts have dried out

But the terror or
The nights he lost
Still hands his head low

Drunk on the rug
Stuck to the blood
He vomits nostalgia

I waited so long for something to seem real
I had so many questions
I answered all my questions

When I seen your face turn
And I knew what was real
And I knew what was lost

Yes I know what was real