In the attics and crawlspaces of my mind
There are stowaways
And quiet passengers
They've living there since I was a child
Whispering softly amongst themselves

Waiting on unforeseeable events
Puppeteering from beneath my skin
Suffocating invisible boxes
Pools of blood up to their knees
I wear this crown of hate
Feel the blood run down my face
I know all your pain

My crown weights me to the ground
The medicine keeps me calm
Descendant of sickness
Descendant of hate
Descendant of sickness
Descendant of hate

Lyrics submitted by epyon346

Quiet Passenger pt. 2 song meanings
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