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Ghost Atlas

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Ghost Atlas

Demons

I hope that you don't mind if I settle into the stems of your troubled mind and watch your soul slowly decline.

Someone, somewhere, prays that you make it out alive.

Say the word any time, move those fingers, they're yours and mine.
I'll contort your limbs with ease to the rhythm of my disease.

For every devil that you shake, lies another coiled in the warmth of your embrace, never meant to escape.

Someone, somewhere, loved you child. They left you to save your own life. Now demons pull at the teeth of a soul never set free.

Say the word any time, move those fingers, they're yours and mine. I'll contort your limbs with ease to the rhythm of my disease.
Say the word any time, as I linger in your mind. There's nothing left for me to be, besides the needles in your feet.