THE OPEN TOMB song lyrics
by Joel Sattler

and the screwing ring that one day weaves
most I everything
think of the passage between the worlds
the towns like bells go by ding ding ding

those go drowned tolling washed weight
have human eyes in the chain
undone washed into the sun
live a fine reason for what you have done

the sound of the forgiving river
the cause of the molten hands
a flute the color of sad
rising and growing the worm

we on the parallel
hot in the melted clock landscape
dada does dear for whips around crossroads
so we have panoramas of wolves

man so crunch under steamrollers
trust no variants god no
you can not take the sacrifice away
the bed flies over the sky

in will like tongue high fire
boiling ever take fruit
tracked with snakes under the skin
water not water but wet

around nothing bitterness chokes
like a bread overcooked in the smoke
almost a man it is said
we will see what we see and are dead

our song unfurled like a flag
the laws of the lives we have strangled
deep in the time we have left
city disease on our breathe

counterfeit fruit of the night
almost as high as the clouds
atonement spits nerves into air
and what we call dada diverse

la la la la la la la
la la la f***ing la

the reincarnated what if
she who must be obeyed
the smell and the heat over all
the touch which these few have made

and freed and afraid cry and seek
for of the voluptuousness of the steel
to metals the iron is hammered
could and cannot coming to

the end makes almost of the bells
so regret just for it's and frozen
already escape heat and light
parted eternal the flower

without electric look burst
and the find links know glides us captured
that his thunderstorms blow through my soul
and the worm itself is enraptured

and even if you could get the marines
in underneath the open night
harsh controlled old on the brink
the sound of metal does grass

out of the out into dada
so prepared unprepared is the dada
a violet falls from her hand
and what has become of the man ?

speak down from climbing the stars
savory mountain flesh
the myth with the nerves of our gut
and so heard almost what was what

almost warms the apparition
underfoot meat the down blood
licked up with a prohibition
certainty so what it does

bleeding forgotten face
demands the end of every road
almost nightmarish it was
in more than he chances a dream

so he muscles and in we go
and up it's crushed into tears
the bottom is used in sad fear
of new bells new suns new skies

and the pit of death has a bottom too
and what is old can be made new
in weaves daily no clear
eat veins eat your lunch drink your milk yes dear

tight without the sources
that she used to carry for crouching
the cup gives the answer in wine
drags the gaunt ill-conceived ocean

Sunday we visit the grave
we the rich bones to think
falling breath take it away
colors drain down in the sink

la la la la la la la
la la la f***ing la

up in the morning no
of the and and but and the who
on clean clean glasses we skate
and quietly we are the page

we hid our ecstasy well
liquid head black final lymph
the purified flowing sweet back
on the debt that we never should owed

the city he bought with a smile
existence deep follow in I
Arctic almost the weight
without you I surely will die

sight for a season grinding
no abysses turn start arrive
with many I speak in age
we have the crushing our time

wet ammunition defeat
mud feeble sad digging the trench
carry come into so close
we can speak watching them dance

throw motion take it all in
I and the book and the candle
what hell he worded in salt
he waves as his hands melt

hovers with do demand death
another heavy as those
the bitter water almost undrinkable
he has no more hours of slavery left

the ribbons turn into cobblestones
the bottle is empty at last
reason damned by landslides
the product is all that's important

we and I long for a reason
taken in tempest for noise
to the ultra delight of the gift
in a morning so raw for a voice

the white sad adventures are done
have the for and the walk up
I puzzles the why are we here
are the eyes painful enough?

is the son a man
that wanders barefoot
laughing so hard it hurts
in the mouth of an open tomb

la la la la la la la
la la la f***ing la

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