Exile of Our Marrow - Steak Number Eight

Off we go, far from the city lights

Beneath these broken skies, nothing is ready there

Dying fields and creeping fears

We drag behind the exile of our marrow

Through the black

Drying fears on our skin

Gripping tears leaving their trace

This is the exile of our marrow

Off we go, far from the city lights

Where I always try to be

Off we go, far from the city lights

Where skies are really frail

Off we go, far from the city lights

Daddy’s here but lights are healing

Off we go, far from the city lights

This is the exile of our marrow

Exile of our marrow

Through the black

Drying fears on our skin

Gripping tears leaving their trace

This is the exile of our marrow