Текст: Thrice. Betrayal Is A Symptom.

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Faith is not something that I grasp, it's something that I fake, as I'm slipping, as I'm falling through the cracks. Faith, without actions is a mask, for making the same mistakes, as I'm slipping, as I'm falling through the cracks. But somehow I find beauty in our failings. Somehow I find meaning in our lies. Somehow I?m made perfect in this fracture. Your back is begging sweetly for my knives. I?m spilling blood, glancing down to hide my face. I walk with eyes closed tight, through monuments of grace. My faith is a front, I?m spilling blood. Isn?t it sweet how I?m trusted with angels, and how quickly I break my promises? Isn?t it sweet?