St. Broadrick Is In Antarctica

I know you don't want change

But nothing is ever what it used to be

Grab the rope, hoist yourself up

With a copy in hand

Comforted by, the Lions of substance

A solitude parade

Grab the rope, hoist yourself up

And drift like ants in hole's water

These three angels used to be attorneys

It is such a serious thing to me

Oh, how i search through the memories

Such an experience for me

Silence creating bold letters

Like not and better

These three devils used to be apologies

These three angels used to be monuments

I tried to find that feeling from that letter

For my consistencies

It was such a painful thing to see

When the shadows didnt bend

Like now and then

These three devils used to be apostrophes

So I destroyed a monument

So what

I know you don't want change

But nothing is ever what it used to be

Grab the rope, hoist yourself up

With a copy in hand

Comforted by, the Lions of substance

A solitude parade

Grab the rope, hoist yourself up

And drift like ants in hole's water