Idle Hands (Instrumental)

A cold mornings mist
Kisses her milky white skin
Cold to the touch
Dark pooling blood
It's a fleeting warmth
Absorbed on quivering lips
I groan
I hiss
Indulge the self
I must
This exquisite ichor thick like mud
In awe of what I've done
In awe of all I've done
These idle hands were meant to harm

The birds above
Serenade me with song
A funeral fog
Embraces us with reaching arms
It's unclear
Exactly
How I got here
Smile stretches ear to ear
The beast of the land bore witness
Now consumed by fear
Curiosity still
Brings them near
The earth weeps
The dirt now damped with her tears
From my knees
Against their will, I rise
Mud gives way beneath my feet
Be smeared in blood
And driven by greed
An obsession I am obligated to appease

Indulge the self
I must
This exquisite ichor thick like mud
In awe of what I've done
In awe of all I've done
These idle hands were meant to harm