Trinkets Pale Of Moon in The Mars Volta

By the landfill I lust
I burn their clothing before I dig into the ground
I am Janus faced belial with vines
You’re going to wish you hadn’t run

Clarodine(?) is calling me
I hear the hearts of tiny beating drums
I feigned umbrage at my bruising fists
You’re going to wish you hadn’t run

And with these trinkets pale of moon
Senescent charms become a bludgeon of wrinkles
When I nurse your tired heart
For every time you hear this strain of lullabies collapsing
Walk towards the echo and let it hold your trembling

Their gourds are punctured easily
Amnesia fumes in little twists of silk
Induce this multi strobe with melody
You’re going to wish you hadn’t run

I sing your epicedium
My father taught me when I was young
You’ll wear the tattered fringe of hangnail regalia
You’re going to wish you hadn’t run

And with these trinkets pale of moon
Senescent charms become a bludgeon of wrinkles
When I nurse your tired heart
For every time you hear this strain of lullabies collapsing
Walk towards the echo and let it hold your trembling