Dyslexicon - The Mars Volta

Nature red in tooth and claw

I haven’t seemed to keep my powder dry

I always seem to hear it in your laughter

The second that I fell in love with the handle of your revolver

I always seem to hear it in your laughter

I beg to you, a second chance with a dried white rose to Bethlehem

I always seem to hear it in your laughter

Am I the valency that you deny?

In the time of the sixth sun

We are cattle to the prod

I burn this dictionary because that’s my dyslexicon

When I collapse and bury all the things

Unconsciously I hear cackling in chloroform this spectre will ensnare

I always seem to hear it in your laughter

A braided strand from childrens mane

Acquired with impunity

I always seem to hear it in your laughter

The things you say to me are deaf in tongue

I always seem to hear it in your laughter

Am I the valency that you deny?

In the time of the sixth sun we are cattle to the prod

I burn this dictionary because that’s my dyslexicon

You’ve never tasted heaven

Stood the mother filled with grief

In the wake of Monday mourning finds a culprit void of breath with guile

If fate is your endearment

Through pistil and through stem

In the wake of Monday mourning

And on the seventh day you will come to find that my prism is not color blind

In death’s mosaic spirit

That’s why I repent

That’s why I go under

In the time of the sixth sun

We are cattle to the prod

I burn this dictionary because that’s my dyslexicon