Sick To Death Of You

Tom Walters

Humiliate and fumigate the sorrows of your soul
Desolate and disparate the beauty of the bold
Holding out for mercy as the bells begin to toll
And you pan your sordid mind for the silver scent of gold

Sell your twisted visions to the people dressed in black
Spewing up the innards of a coy fictitious fact
The whispers of the willow men will stab you in the back
As the wasteland weaves a rootless road to stop you in your tracks

You spit and curse my name
'Cause I'm the one to blame
For all your tears and pain
But honey don't you know that I'm sick to death of you

Dancing in the blood of all the bodies that you've slain
You glorify and deify the children of the shades
Drinking with the devils that all recognise your face
Slowly carving out a requiem from which there's no escape

Prostitute your promises and desecrate your heart
Forsaking all the images you worshipped at the start
Clinging to a corpse that's blindly weeping in the dark
As a shadow lurks beneath your skin that's barely made its mark

You spit and curse my name
'Cause I'm the one to blame
For all your tears and pain
But honey don't you know that I'm sick to death of you

Crawling back alone as the doubt devours my eyes
The remnants of a home that's been replaced with bitter lies
Crawling back alone as the doubt devours my eyes
The remnants of a home that's been replaced with bitter lies

You spit and curse my name
'Cause I'm the one to blame
For all your tears and pain
But honey don't you know that I'm sick to death of you

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