The wicked never rest; you’ve heard it said before.
This must be the reason evil knocks upon our door.
Pretend that we don’t hear it, pretend that we're asleep.
The more that we pretend, the deeper that it creeps.
While we plug our ears, deep,
with our strange finger tips,
Our sin drinks up the wine,
with its blood stained lips.
Getting more intoxicated makes our darkness grow.
The poison we inject into it, now begins to show.
So as we sit here, blinders on, affixed to our new face.
We’ll use the magic wicked wand, and wave it to erase.
Erase the things that make us doubt, the ones that so disgrace,
Leave us with the ones that bring a smile to our face.
The light remains,
until the night drinks away the day,
but remain alone along the way.
Glides and guides, our experience, shines so fine, Our weariness.
We both rip off our blinders and see the truth at last.
The stories are all played out here inside our looking glass.
One, but still our own, we reach out when we can.
We pull the other from the wreckage of our intended plan.
Wicked, you'll grow weary, while we grow wickedly strong.
So choose a wicked lullaby to feast your ears upon,
Your steps grows silent, breath goes cold,
grip turns loose, slipping, your hold.
The wicked never rest; now it won’t take long;
our soothing voices lull you off to dream your wicked songs.
your eyes grow heavy, head grows weak, voice goes silent,