The Driftwood Sinn

In this foul year of our lord I will die knowing I am not your only son The faintest sounds of windchimes in the distance The oil platforms burn like candleabras Does good come from deep within the soul or is it just and urge to be so much finer that we are? so much finer that we are? Why don't we just say what we really feel? Was it good to wake up in some stranger's arms? Did you like the vile taste of his lips? Did his lover like the taste of yours? Sweet revenge never felt so good! Does good come from deep within the soul or is it just and urge to be so much finer that we are? so much finer that we are? Scattered driftwood, the sounds of heartbeats The smell of sulphur fills the salty air We drown in our own blood Oh god help me please, what have I done? (what have I done?) Does good come from deep within the soul or is it just and urge to be so much finer that we are? so much finer that we are? so much finer that we are? so much finer that we are?…