by Aaron Faust

Created on: July 18, 2011

Isle of Yew or The Storm is On the Other Shore

Don't pretend to be a loner
Just to get away with this
I've got heart like organ donors
And you've got your nuclear kiss

I've got my pride, I've got my honor,
But I miss my sugar fix
God said go and take a number
So I drew a triple-six

Sunday came in burned and bloodied
The madcap doctor's on his way
He's humming the dirge of ruin
For the saints of Saturday

Don't talk rot and don't talk virtue
In fact, do not speak at all
Blather on and it might hurt you
When the cynics come to call

All for you, a bag of ballads
Full of darkness, full of joy
Change your tune and make mine valid
That's the schism I employ

These four walls have made you stronger
Half asylum, half a home
Fade into the midnight longer
We might as well be in Rome

Sunday came in burned and bloodied
The madcap doctor turned away
He still hums the dirge of ruin
For the saints of Saturday
So give a yell and point a finger
Where the faded colors fall
Don't talk rot and don't talk virtue
In fact, do not speak at all

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