The Mars Volta Day Of The Baphomets

Sawing off the pavement

Repenting their past lives

Might I be the only payment left

To be left behind

Clay and pigment footsteps

Rust it boiling clean

Our bull let in linguistics

That only we can breathe

I gotta prayer that’ll make you theirs now

Beneath sepulchers

Raise your entrails as an offer

Fondling with pitchforks

In a cattle prodded sea

Signaling the sedatives

To emaciate their queen

Bowing in constriction

Anytime you leave

We snuffed ourselves an angel

And cut her by the wings

I gotta prayer that’ll make you theirs now

Beneath sepulchers

Raise your entrails as an offer

In my sight I was born

To bring death at the footsteps of your home

Tonight

I have sewn

All the hair and crooked nails

That you all have worn

While your wife

Sits at home

I plant the vermin

Because she needs it so

How long must we fold by hand

The nuns are burning wheels again

Dent of mattress to make it bare

Come clean with the anecdote

After all we came undone

Pale of sluts with host at fault

One day we won’t pay your debt

Our centipedes will get theirs yet

Poachers in your home

Poachers in your home

How long must we fold by hand

The nuns are burning wheels again

Dent of mattress to make it bare

Come clean with the anecdote

After all we came undone

Pale of sluts with host at fault

One day we won’t pay your debt

Our centipedes will get theirs yet

Fold the river by the lips

As a cruel and smothered wind

Fits the gash with ornaments

Dawn is nodding off again

Raised the braille to read it clear

Gathered by the cholera

Rinse the burns in cauldrons

Help the palm we see a lens

My hands secrete a monument

My hands secrete a monument

I am the reason

Four your missing child

They might be home

But there’s no trace

Under your pillow

I have left a spine

Oh the things we do

When you’re away

I saw the message

That you wrote in the sand

Dismembered hints that carve away

The anesthetic of your gospel said

Put a muzzle on the lamb

Give me one page

Give me one page

Make it blank

Mace that I leak

Will rain

Give me one page

Give me one page

Make it blank

Race I inflict

Your way

Maybe one day you’ll stop and realize

The throne that you serve is dead

Give me a plague

Give me a plague

Make it blank

Nothing you own is safe