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Of Books And Bells Lyrics & Chords By The Quickening
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We’ve always watched ourselves playing the victims; stood on the soapbox of our own self pity; created
hell within the nine gates of the city. Oh how deep runs our conditioning, and where lies our authenticity?
We’ve killed the first born of humility: our gratitude. Brothers! Our reason lies deeper than our reasoning:
the currents run so cool beneath the raging sea. Sister, sister; has life just become the subtle art of
suffering? It needn’t be. It needn’t be anything at all. Restless? A slow burning anxiety? Some suicides can
take a whole lifetime. And to the living; here’s the end in the beginning; are we deserving of gratitude?
