Cygnus...vismund Cygnus: Umbilical Syllables Lyrics - Frances The Mute - Mars Volta

The ocean floor is hidden 

From your viewing lens 

A depth perception 

Languished in the night 

All my life,I've been 

Sewing the wounds 

But the seeds sprout 

A lachrymal cloud 

Nino preparate 

Que vas sufrir 

Nino preparate 

Salte veneno 

Nino preparate 

Salte de aqui 

Nino preparate 

Labios temblando 

Nino preparate 

Salte veneno 

Nino preparate 

Salte de aqui 

Nino preparate 

Brincan los cuerpos 

Vas a sufrir 

My nails peel back 

When the taxidermist ruined 

Goose stepped the freckling impatience 

All the brittle tombs 

Five hundred little q's 

I'm splitting hairs to 

Match the faces 

All night long I'll hunt for you 

Let me show you what I mean 

Sangre 

Sonando 

De rabia naci 

Now this train don't lie 

An abortion that survived 

A lineage of 

Bastard mastacation 

All the severed proof 

Talons scratch my suite 

These are the feathers 

That replace them 

All night I'll hunt for you 

Let me show you what I mean 

Sangre 

Sonando 

De rabia nací 

Who do you trust 

Will they feed us the womb 

Chrome the fetal mirage 

Will they feed us the womb 

I found the remnants 

Of a crescent fang 

It cleaned my wing 

Down to the bone 

Umbilical syllables 

Left to decode 

There was no cradle 

I can taste it 

Come on now 

All night I'll hunt for you 

Let me show you what I mean 

Sangre 

Sonando 

De rabia naci 

Who do you trust 

Will they feed us the womb 

Chrome the fetal mirage 

Will they feed us the womb 

Bring me this plague 

She took a drink 

Those nicotine stains 

On his every word 

My scavenger quilt 

Will only hide the truth 

Bring me 

Bring me this plague 

I count the days to find 

What was left behind 

Only these names I clutch 

Will lead me to my home 

Somehow this river marks 

A wrinkle hand in mine 

And everyday that parts 

The water into two 

Mothers and feathers start 

To drown the living proof 

I can't remember these lakes of blood 

Wrapped in a blanket 

There sweats a cut 

Who do you trust 

Will they feed us the womb 

Chrome the fetal mirage 

Will they feed us the womb