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Flight of Stares
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Rigor Mortis Grip
Goodbye, everybody, I have got to go
This expatriating guilt has ousted this man from his home
It'd be nice to know where it is I'm going
But asking isn't always about knowing
Goodbye, stranger, goodbye, friend
I will fight for freedom in the end
What'll happen to you
What'll happen to him
What'll happen to me
What'll happen to them
How can we know the answers
If we don't know the questions
Goodbye...
But no, I can't let go
I've worked too hard and moved too slow
To leave you all behind and I know
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I can't forget what I've already known
'Hold on tight' is what you said
But you didn't know that I'd be dead
Now as my fingers stiffen around your wrists
I know it's pointless to resist
And I only hold on tighter because I failed to let go
This rigor mortis grip is cutting off both of our blood flows
Now as the undertaker pries my frozen fingers
from your bloodless, dying hands
My dying wish is you would live
My last will is you'd forgive
And try, try to understand
Goodbye...
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