Thirty-first, unrehearsed   I'm thrown from all I've known      A sillhouette, set among   The badlands paved with stone.      Photographs, fingerprints   Fragile refugee      Higher eyes, fire in   The skys society.      Can I hold on? Can I believe in,   all the things you are?      There's no sane in, chaos reigns in,   Subterranea      Cadillac, heart-attack   back of this beyond.      Pusher king, TV queen   the color dating blonde.      A traitors gate, while you wait   gender re-assigned.      Surgeon carves, the matching halves   the blindfold leads the blind.      Can I hold on? I cannot count them   all the things you are.      We're all stronger, I'd hold out longer in   Subterranea.      Without the walls comfort is freezing, in my veins.      And caught within chemical rain.      My dreams have turned against me, and fatally have fenced me in.      Above me cold light and below me overall,      The time I've lost, how can I know?      So I keep forgetting what I am half recalling.      On a bed of fallen flowers, hold me now, as I was held before.      Powerhouse sacred vows, trigger happy punk.      Driven by the hidden lies and figure hugging junk.      Heaven knows if I'm closed, am I unreleased?      If I'm in hell I may as well play famine to the feast.      Can I hold on? Can I belong to   all the things you are?      There's no sane in, chaos reigns in    Subterranea.   Subterranea.   Subterranea.