He sits among the rest,
buried in his seat.
The clatter of the crowd
is drowning out his speech.
He turns to look at us,
a mirror burned in deep.
He wonders who you are,
you wonder what he means.

We are the matched and numbered ones.
We have been placed in all their codes.
You may be blessed by your own,
you may be blessed by your own ghost.

She makes the driver blush
with pains of tongues and knees.
She opens up the car
leaving air to breathe.
The moments all messed up
with lanes that bleed in sheets
that cover up our tracks
and lead us to her keep.

We are the matched and numbered ones.
We have been placed in all their codes.
You may be blessed by your own,
you may be blessed by your own ghost.

We are the matched and numbered ones
who live in constant disrepair.
You may be blessed by your own,
you may be blessed by your own ghost.

Here I'm stressing over
fallen angels with cause to cover.
Here I'm stressing over
who live in constant disrepair.
Here I'm stressing over
fallen angels with cause to cover.

We are the matched and numbered ones
who live in constant disrepair.
You may be blessed by your own, y
ou may be blessed by your own ghost.

See also:
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