Текст песни A Graveyard - Idle Friend

We're sick enough to spill someone else's blood,
Paint a picture of ourselves with it— call it love.
But I guess that's what the ego does,
When it forgets the bodies we've become
Will eventually turn back to dust
We've held on to the worse parts of our nature,
Tried to survive off rotten fruits of our labor.
Maggot filled and mangled flesh,
Should've seen it as a sign,
But lately we've been complaining
That the Apple hasn't been tasting right.
Taste buds blossom, reach up for the taste of death.
Spit spilling out our lips,
Smoke collecting in our chests
Hands erecting effigies
Where all of the ash collects,
Man the flames we set ablaze
And call ourselves the architects.
We didn't plant this garden. No.
It grew on its own.
Now it's starting to resemble all the bones we left below.
Palms open, hands stretched
Strangely I can never tell
If they're reaching out to comfort us
Or asking us for help.

Oh, Eden. Please believe
That the snake still slithers in our teeth.
From the lies that we believe
To satiate our endless need to be
Better than the barren land
We leave beneath our battered feet.
We watched skylines start to erupt,
Saw city scapes in empty space that surrounded us.
Burying the truth, we know we could sell:
Paradise was never lost. We stole it from ourselves.