1. |
Id
03:18
|
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2. |
Common Ego
04:04
|
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3. |
Out of Our Hands
04:07
|
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|
All faith is a cheap silver cross, made of children’s sweat and personal loss
But words they bind like iron-cast twine
As they wrestle themselves to the floor, faked the spirit and still asked for more
Yes truths so kind are often just lies it seems
“Son of Thomas you know,
that I can’t let you see his hands,
sweet distant cousin of Job, some things are best left to chance
and are out of our hands”
We only curse when we’re awake, and pray the nights will dream past those days
They’ll begin, again, find a charlatan
Who will assume their old father’s form and only speak in certainties and scorn
In time they’ll find it’s between the lines as they cry
“Son of Thomas you know,
that I can’t let you see his hands,
sweet distant cousin of Job, some things are best left to chance
and are out of our hands”
Out of our hands
Out of my hands
|
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4. |
Red Giant
03:50
|
|||
5. |
Jamenago
04:45
|
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