The Mars Volta - Soothsayer

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 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 Calling me, she's calling me This it may have come to falter We have become these pleads