Rachael Lyrics

She walked toward the window, careful not to be seen in the light

Looking for a sign of his arrival, pressing down the feelings deep inside

Synthetic vistas of a hopeful paradise, antiquated relics of a destiny gone by

Floating in the wake of desperate dreams, and captive to the whims of sinister things

Their time was like a bomb with anxious fuse, a fatal tryst of love inside a ruse

Trusting in their spoken declarations, amidst the cliffs of doubt and reservations

Urgent swells of hope and loss and love, beating down the prospect of the dove

The absurdity of what will be remains, but cannot be contained within the grin

Of the sniper who demands their very lives, the ticking of the clock is on his side

The beating of the drum is eminent, within the sphere of vital acts to come

The undoing of the end has just begun, and everything compels the dying sun

To freeze in the stutter of the night, losing all benefit of sight

To bet against the shadow of the light, and go against the grain for what is right

How to define the emptiness inside, when all you know is fighting at your side

And luck it seems is just a tiny box, that holds a metal pick unlatching locks

That guard against the riddle so unfair, a teardrop on a noose of newly minted hair

Separation is a universal theme, it's one that tears the seams unseen

Tensions wide-awake like a crossbow, taut with debt and elderly regret

A sign of things to come under the moon, that sniper whistling familiar tunes

Death is one of many things I fear, but short of losing you my ghastly dear

Four more years is all we ever had, passing through this wilderness so mad

Several years ago, I took my place, in the lineage of crescent-faced

Dreamers who believe with angel wings, we are the martyrs of tomorrow's wizardry

The devil hides inside menageries, with robots that resemble you and me

We cannot understand his wicked ways, until we sip the bitter aftertaste

It trails on and on forevermore, hunting down the ones who know the score

Our love is like a broken glass of wine, shattered by the recoiling of the vine

And still, we seek to separate the shards, from the sacramental curse of our cards

The old shall pass away unto the new, and everything that comes will never do

To repair the damage we inherited: the silence at the end of grateful dead

Spirals of our fear whipping 'round, disturb the slumber of the ground

And what we had in store, forever now, is lost: inside the sniper's bow