Piano Magic Dark Horses
When you're preoccupied
like a moth with the light
we are 'sacking your life
we are bleeding your pipes.
When you're hooked by the line
by the crook of your spine
we are sparking the knives; we are Frankenstein.
When you're preoccupied by the junk of your life
we are marking your card
we are catching off-guard.
When you're thanking the Lord for the fat of your land
we are cutting the cord
we are back of the hand.
Our love is the love of the loveless.
Our tears are the tears of the bird.
Our side is the side of the sideshow.
And our blood is as good as our word.
Dark horses, our handshake is fatal.
Our seal is a stamp to the heart.
We cut through the din like a rattle.
Our violence is closer to art.
