Interpret:

Mars Volta, The

Album:

Amputechture

Sawing off the pavement 
Repenting their past lives 
Might I be the only payment left 
To be left behind 
Clay and pigment footsteps 
Rust it boiling clean 
Our bull let in linguistics 
That only we can breathe 


I gotta prayer that'll make you theirs now 
Beneath sepulchers 
Raise your entrails as an offer 


Fondling with pitchforks 
In a cattle prodded sea 
Signaling the sedatives 
To emaciate their queen 
Bowing in constriction 
Anytime you leave 
We snuffed ourselves an angel 
And cut her by the wings 


I gotta prayer that'll make you theirs now 
Beneath sepulchers 
Raise your entrails as an offer 


In my sight I was born 
To bring death at the footsteps of your home 
Tonight 
I have sewn 
All the hair and crooked nails 
That you all have worn 
While your wife 
Sits at home 
I plant the vermin 
Because she needs it so 


How long must we fold by hand 
The nuns are burning wheels again 
Dent of mattress to make it bare 
Come clean with the anecdote 
After all we came undone 
Pale of sluts with host at fault 
One day we won't pay your debt 
Our centipedes will get theirs yet 


Poachers in your home 
Poachers in your home 


How long must we fold by hand 
The nuns are burning wheels again 
Dent of mattress to make it bare 
Come clean with the anecdote 
After all we came undone 
Pale of sluts with host at fault 
One day we won't pay your debt 
Our centipedes will get theirs yet 


Fold the river by the lips 
As a cruel and smothered wind 
Fits the gash with ornaments 
Dawn is nodding off again 
Raised the braille to read it clear 
Gathered by the cholera 
Rinse the burns in cauldrons 
Help the palm we see a lens 
My hands secrete a monument 
My hands secrete a monument 


I am the reason 
Four your missing child 
They might be home 
But there's no trace 
Under your pillow 
I have left a spine 
Oh the things we do 
When you're away 
I saw the message 
That you wrote in the sand 
Dismembered hints that carve away 
The anesthetic of your gospel said 
Put a muzzle on the lamb 


Give me one page 
Give me one page 
Make it blank 
Mace that I leak 
Will rain 
Give me one page 
Give me one page 
Make it blank 
Race I inflict 
Your way 


Maybe one day you'll stop and realize 
The throne that you serve is dead 


Give me a plague 
Give me a plague 
Make it blank 
Nothing you own is safe