lirik lagu sewerperson - chapter6_a botched heist of the lezoryth midsummer residence
[intro]
w~with the information i have provided thus far~far, i’m sure it comes as no surprise that th~thievery and other criminal mischief manages to slip through the cracks of society a~as~as the natural chaos of this world remains at its~its f~forefront
although the perpetrators of such things flourish under th~the blind eye of the l~l~law, what they cannot account f~for is the evil hidden within other citizens behind the closed doors they so selfishly pry open
(eric, look at me~me)
[chorus]
quick hands guiding them
gas lamps fl!cking on
masked man picking lock
the moon dance covеr up
cobbled roads kicking up some horse sh~t in thе mud
forced in to the front, the door hinge broken off
[verse 1]
yeah, the panelling in here is gorgeous
the crest at the helm is enormous
the clocks tell the time of the forest
the balcony’s covered in torches
something inside of his gut is in knots
victorian build, but no sign of a cross in the arches
an almanac flipped to the harvest
and its leather is riddled with markings
[bridge]
it look like tattoos, it feel like me and you
wh~where the f~ck have we chosen to barge in?
speckled with crimson at foot are the carpets
i hear a shuffle come out of the darkness
i feel a hunter’s reconnaissance mark us
i pick up scent of a bloodl~st just as i pick up sight of a carcass
[verse 2]
i shouldn’t have come here alone
i should’ve just stuck to my grove, you could see him regret it
human lay stripped to its bones
i broke window to walk in its home, thus into its stomach
i~it’s sweat, it could smell in my chest
it’s fear, it could smell on my breath, i know
i guess i picked me a dud, man, i’ve been deceived by the crest
he charges at me from the door, he’s packing my brain in the floor
i’ve nowhere to go
i’ve hoped i would die by the sword, but now i’m mechanically gored with hand to my throat
and as blood pools in both of my hands, i finally lock eyes with the man, absorbing my hope
draped in the finest of things, the crest in the steel of his ring
a family of sick misanthropes
[chorus]
quick hands guiding them
gas lamps fl!cking on
masked man picking lock
the moon dance cover up
cobbled roads kicking up some horse sh~t in the mud
forced in to the front, the door hinge broken off
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