Chalk Lines Lyrics

Blackest art is what we deal,
Drawing chalk lines in your kitchen.
Targeting occult alleles,
We'll catalyze our mother's fission.

The room is burning and we're still here.
We are a circle of fourteen arms,
Even as windows bend.
We are a tear in the math of ice,
A saddle aback the cold shell of the terrapin.

Over. I've done all I can do
To unvenomize, so you can see this through.

Now, finally, the maker mends us,
Furnishes a blood decanter.
Five and eighty-five rememories arrest,
Furrowings along the middle parts attest to this.

The room is burning and we're still here.
We are a circle of fourteen arms,
Even as windowpanes bend.
We are a tear in the math of ice,
A saddle aback the cold shell of the terrapin.

Over. I've done all I can do
To unvenomize, so you can see this through.