Prophets

The sound of your sweet breath triggers death
Bends into the telephone
It cages my bitter bones in your frozen zone
The mathematical love of yours
Still ignores my fanatical care
And you just can't declare
Your religious mind is spacing elsewhere

So, you freeze my burning sun
With words like bullets from a gun
And I'm lost here on the run
Between what you've said and done
Between our prophet's son and your orphan

Tacit terms adorn your lips, deceiving tips
They mess with my head
They lead my sugary dread to my sweet deathbed
And my desire remains unfed
I'm cutting my roots so deep so you said:
"Run baby run, you're better off than dead."

My blood is on the gory line
Between your prophet and mine
But the misery you designed and the sorrow you defined
Is so beautiful and divine

What's the cost of dying in your arms?

I killed and drilled to know ya
I crossed the ocean to show ya
You're etched on my skin
I wailed and jailed to steal ya
I bled my heart to feel ya
And you're worth all my sins

What's the cost of dying in your arms?