Thirty-first, unrehearsed

I'm thrown from all I've known



A sillhouette, set among

The badlands paved with stone.



Photographs, fingerprints

Fragile refugee



Higher eyes, fire in

The skys society.



Can I hold on? Can I believe in,

all the things you are?



There's no sane in, chaos reigns in,

Subterranea



Cadillac, heart-attack

back of this beyond.



Pusher king, TV queen

the color dating blonde.



A traitors gate, while you wait

gender re-assigned.



Surgeon carves, the matching halves

the blindfold leads the blind.



Can I hold on? I cannot count them

all the things you are.



We're all stronger, I'd hold out longer in

Subterranea.





And caught within chemical rain.



My dreams have turned against me, and fatally have fenced me in.



Above me cold light and below me overall,



The time I've lost, how can I know?



So I keep forgetting what I am half recalling.



On a bed of fallen flowers, hold me now, as I was held before.



Powerhouse sacred vows, trigger happy punk.



Driven by the hidden lies and figure hugging junk.



Heaven knows if I'm closed, am I unreleased?



If I'm in hell I may as well play famine to the feast.



Can I hold on? Can I belong to

all the things you are?



There's no sane in, chaos reigns in 

Subterranea.

Subterranea.

Subterranea.