The Salt Wound Routine

The Salt Wound Routine
Red letters on the dashboard, oh what a gift
They pursue us to the deep end and then depart
Watch as the cracks in the wall feel pain
For only patterns on a snake's back give us genuine fear

And I cannot lie, faces drop into the fire
I get by all the time on a shelf above the door
And it shouldn't be clear but it's not for me to decide
It's a delicate degree
It's a number I can see
Could prison cells be in my brain
For they're safe inside the cover of a dirty face
And everybody finds a college graduate with joy
While I'm happy just sipping tonic water with lemon and lime
And I cannot lie, faces drop into the fire
I get by all the time on a shelf above the door
And it shouldn't be clear but it's not for me to decide
It's a delicate degree
It's a number I can see
You sit at home up late at night
When it's beginning to arrive
And honestly
I don't see the need for any routines
I'm all out of sink, I cover my cuts
And hope they are fixed before I get hurt again

And all this ground beneath my feet
Has decided not to crumble into the sea
I walked in a house, it smelt of paint
And the ceiling it has no trouble with me
En 'The Salt Wound Routine' de Thirteen Senses, la letra nos sumerge en un mundo de introspección y melancolía. Las letras rojas en el tablero del coche son un regalo que nos persigue hasta lo más profundo antes de desaparecer, mientras observamos cómo las grietas en la pared sienten dolor, recordándonos que solo los patrones en la espalda de una serpiente nos inspiran un miedo auténtico....