Soothsayer - The Mars Volta

My love becomes a mange

Dyeing autumn in its leaves

When it broke me in the branch

Where my antlers come to feed

And I swam a hundred days

In the bosom of this filth

Carry on this drought

As I tighten my belt

This deceit has no arms

Bended will, take what’s yours

This deceit has no arms

Bended will, take what’s yours

Calling me, she’s calling me

This it may have come to falter

We have become these pleads

In a field of balding marble

Where the medicine awaits

The hourglass pokes at

The ribs of my cage

At half rations I’m finished

At half rations the minutes

All that happens was given

Coil and embrace

This deceit has no arms

Bended will, take what’s yours

This deceit has no arms

Bended will, take what’s yours

Calling me, she’s calling me

This it may have come to falter

We have become these pleads

This deceit has no arms

Bended will, take what’s yours

This deceit has no arms

Bended will, take what’s yours

Calling me, she’s calling me

This it may have come to falter

We have become these pleads