Spying on a thorny grassland, eyeing on the green meadows
Flicking stubs on picket fences, pining the dead life we chose
Reaching outside what your mind reads is just a distant memory
Feeding on the ghostly wishes is what we are destined to be

Whipping yourself to believe it and the shake the truth off your head
Sand clocks are dripping minutes with thickened drops of blood
Preying on the cryptic shallows, surfing on a demonic wave
You steal thoughts of the dead horses, and gallop faster to your grave