Painter of Fates

We're blacksmiths of our own luck Create our own small fates When the time comes, selfish as fuck Homemade Norman Bates's Paint scenes with a used-up brush No-one intervenes Your canvas torn Paint with devil's horn Your own life vest is the nearest On a deck of a sinking ship Your piece of wood is the dearest When your raft is about to tip Paint scenes with a used-up brush No-one intervenes Your canvas torn Paint with devil's horn Last man standing On a hill with a flag What is that cloth now An aid to wipe your ass? Run the stairs of a crumbling tower Cries behind a door Will you halt or head on lower Even knowing to hear them forever more? Paint scenes with a used-up brush No-one intervenes Your canvas torn Paint with devil's horn Last man standing On a hill with a flag What is that cloth now An aid to wipe your ass? We're blacksmiths of our own luck Create our own small fates When the time comes, selfish as fuck Homemade Norman Bates's Paint scenes with a used-up brush No-one intervenes Your canvas torn Paint with devil's horn