| Lyrics |
it's dark at 4 pm in leedsthe steeples pierce the skylight till the last of it bleedsthe absent sound of another day as it recedesinto the shadowsuntil it's nothingfax papers slipped under the hotel room doorlike food for the prisoner or the prospect to the whorewell fed and halfway drunk i ache myself for moreuntil i'm shadows of myselfuntil i'm nothingsixteen black churches burning on the tvall the way from texas to tennesseeand a politician locks my eye and says to methere is no crisis herethere's no conspiracyi crave inertia every move made so i can stopwhatever this madness is in me spinning like a topon a bed of anxiety over a deep dark dropdown into nothingnessinto withoutyounesswas it ever so the evil creep like ivya toe hold on the stronger half of nature's dichotomyi'm beating back a path through nothing more than pure insistenceuntil here becomesthe distancehold my head love i'm sick tonightfind the open hole and press your fingers there with all your mightbefore the last ounce of my spirit bleedsonto the pristine sheetsof the hotel bed in leeds
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