Broken Frames

the wind is walking
Blowing softly
Through the fingers
Of my made up friends

I am seeking
A brand new city
To make my own
Build it up and burn it down

When we meet again
Miles of men will gather
They say "Praise the day"
I say "Curse the frame"

You're a picture in my head
A blacked out idea of desire
Taking slowly, taking everything I own
You're the picture
Burning in my hands

On top of mountains
I will take in the melodies
String them through my ears
Weave this notion
Made of my fears

This desolate earth
Im covered in sand
Torn flesh from the vultures
I bake in the sun
With hidden memories

You're a picture in my head
A blacked out idea of desire
Taking slowly, taking everything I own
You're the picture
Burning in my hands