Seneca's Silence

Oh it touches, itches, bites and wastes the time
Trying not to be in love with what is mine
With sirens singing
All the big things that we hate, we cry about
Will turn to gold if we just leave them out
Then let’s hope his silence is with us tonight
I’ll bring the camera — can you hold the light?
The dusty pages of the book that wakes the dead
Say don’t hold dear the times that we once had
It’s a pleasure hoping for the things to come
A little patience and the blood will run
Then let’s hope his silence is with us tonight
I’ll bring the poison — can you bring the knife?