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
