Like some sepulchral tableaux, I sit frozen holding your hand. Though I'm trying to think only, Positive thoughts I understand. That this tomorrow, May not be the tomorrow that, Your eviscerating suffering will end, oh. Will you ever be yourself again? Single notes: Girl with the flu, I hear the death rune, She ain't doin' well. Her eyes they seem cast and fatherless. Her psyche's cracked or, anyhow, She ain't speakin' now. Nightfall, like some leaden sea, Dilates as I hold vigil by your bed. Watching the pillowcase soaking with sweat around your head. I can't repel the snaking veil of morbidity, That's disfiguring the seraph of your face. Oh, the organism's been debased. Girl with the flu, I hear the death rune, She ain't doin' well, Her eyes they seem cast and fatherless Her psyche's shattered or, anyhow, She ain't speakin' now. You scream that the books, Are falling off the shelf onto you, But I can't see them. Your hallucination ravings, I'm writing them all down so, You can read them, When your mind no longer aches, And your febrility breaks. Girl with the flu, I hear the death rune, She ain't doin' well. Her eyes they seem cast and fatherless, Her psyche's cracked or, anyhow, She ain't speakin' now. Girl with the flu, I hear the death rune, She ain't doin' well. Her eyes they seem cast and fatherless, Her psyche's shattered or, anyhow, She ain't speakin' now.
Top songs from Of Montreal
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