Black Lodge

These pulsing rooms, their scattered lights, bring false awakenings. This apathy, breeds atrophy, feeds migraine consciousness. Copper dreams mock reality and I’m lost between a thousand layers of paling reflections of myself falling. I take a seat at the table. Screaming myself awake. (x2) Digging in my nails to feel something. Pulling myself away. (x2) I crawl along to find some way out of the (dark). I taste the tin of my blood, i smell stale air. I am alive. I sit up. I stand. I run. Im running. Im running out of this… I have the fury of my own momentum. (x2) My will, will drag my body along. I will walk through every wall. My breathe must be rebellion. I can’t be content to sleep. I have the fury of my own momentum. (x2)