Written in stone, like secrets taken to the grave
Desperate I try (to) direct a film by Anger
Sordid and depraved; I crave the taste (of) dying of fear and hatred
A derelict fortress, I call it a sanctuary, call it a funeral if you like
Desperate I try to crawl, until morning starts, to each cornerstone in anger
Tonal fade away, florescent rearrange
Until morning starts, to each cornerstone again
Don't imitations come out so bright, in the light that leaks in here?
An overexposure that ruined the frame-by-frame, I can't take it back again
Who will turn to me now, when all the scenes are shot?
Well, maybe I'll call you by your name? When I can't call you back again