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• Artiste: Empty Head
• Titre: Bed Of Coals
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Packed in so tight Imperative I move A pheromonal dictate Find a way to drive this groove Turn and slam, turn and slam, turn and slam Don't you find it; a very small place I'm hard-pressed to know who's Breath just whispered 'cross my face It's not the angels on the head of a pin It's the devil on the tip of your spear Yeah (Guitar solo) All eyes become an eye Penetrating look so strong This ghostly flow of current Revealed in a sea of arms Turn and slam, turn and slam, turn and slam Ensemble cast divided by the stage In heat we melt together; ignited by a gaze Bed of coals Bare skin Bare skin across this bed of coal Perform exoticism; soak my fever down In wickedness I'm floating; innocent I drown Innocent I drown (Guitar solo) Hey Suspected, connected, infected, dissected And by the door; a sign the visitors aren't reading "No Rules-Just Consequences Here" What we say we don't know Speaks to us in tongues Silent airborne kisses panting from the lungs Turn and slam, turn and slam, turn and slam X-ray tangled bodies find a character in bone Sanskrit-spelt by fingertips on undulating skin A volume writ in moans Perform exoticism; soak my fever down In wickedness I'm floating; innocent I drown Innocent I drown Suspected; not pure enough Connected; not deep enough Infected; not clean enough Dissected; not bare enough Bed of coals Burning soles 'Cross bed of coals