She is a saint 

Her womb is a place of rejection 

She washes her perfect skin quietly 

and hates me for being real 

Kill the lights and listen for noises to give you away 

Sanctuary 

I need a place where I can feel... 

John James Hewitt (1931-1969) The Orchard: "It feels like we're all locked up in little cages" 

"The ceiling is closing in, and the walls... 

The walls are closing in - Can't you feel that?" 

I will turn my eyes away 

I will not turn into stone 

No more accusations and lies 

She's spreading her self 

Flesh giving way to flesh 

I watch her bones 

I'm being eaten alive 

Remove the eyes 

Remove the eyes 

Remove intentions and kill the lights 

Her love is a blinding line of fire to where I stand 

Her love is as cold as her desire 

I'll never be free