You console me in my darkest hour
Convince me that the truth is always grey
Caress me in your velvet chair
Conceal me from the ghost you cast away

I'm in no hurry, you go run
And tell your friends I'm losing touch
Fill their heads with rumours of impending doom
It must be true

You console me in my darkest hour
and tell me that you always hear my cries
I wonder what you got conspired
I'm sure it was the consolation prize

I'm in no hurry, you go run
And tell your friends I'm losing touch
Fill the night with stories, the legend grows
Of how you got lost
But you made your way back home
You sold your soul, like a roamin' vagabond, yeah

I heard you found a wishing well
In the city
Console me in my darkest hour
And you throw me down

I'm in no hurry, you go run
And tell your friends I'm losing touch
Fill your crown with rumours
Impending doom, it must be true

But you made your way back home
You sold your soul, like a roamin' vagabond

And about how you got lost, but you made your way back home
You went and sold your soul, an allegiance dead and gone
I'm losing touch


-NightMare-