The Gate by Drinking.Bleach

O!
Where will you go?
You’re not coming home

Golden feast untouched, untouchable
A long table set is stretched out before you
Ashes in your mouth
Your fate becomes you and consumes you
You’re not going home

Golden wreath
My God, your revolution rings out low
So soft
Their retribution breaks on me
I know your intuition
All but certain they’re not coming home

O!
Where will you go?
You’re not going home
O!
What do I know?
You’re not coming home

Golden teeth all fell straight out of your mouth
Wretched beast, you are
You sell yourself out
Feet of clay
Hard floors run all through your house
You won’t get out, you’re trapped
No going home

• Acoustic
• Grunge
• beats
• folk
• indie folk
• indie rock
• iphone
• lo-fi
• psych folk
• Portland