Is it because I cannot see you that you feel so free to steal my excess baggage, full of darkness and despair'
While I fumble with my locks you're content to stand and knock,
Yet I know your knack for thievery is rare,
Do you know they call it arson, setting fires without permission'
In my heart for sure, and maybe elsewhere too,
Though your lack of inhibition captures my imagination, I end up a wiser person thanks to you.

It's coming to fruition,
The sympathetic vibration,
Your train is at my station,
Within, without,
Within, without,
Within, without,
Within, without,
Within, without.

There is your flare for murder,
There's a dagger in the border of your cloak, and I suspect a captain's gun,
As you put to death suspicions, kindly kill my fears as well,
Exorcise and slay the demons one by one,
Though I'm usually pacifistic, you are mercifully sadistic,
And I didn't know that murder could be good,
But the roses came crimson,
Springing from the prison of the floorboards where there once were stains of blood.

It's coming to fruition,
The sympathetic vibration,
Your train is at my station,
Within, without,
Within, without,
It's calming my suspicion with soothing intuition,
Your train is at my station,
Within, without,
Within, without,
Within, without,
Within, without,
Within, without.

It's coming to fruition,
The sympathetic vibration,
Your train is at my station,
Within, without,
Within, without,
It's calming my suspicion with soothing intuition,
Your train is at my station,
Within, without,
Within, without,
Within, without,
Within, without,
Within, without,
Within, without,
Within, without,
Within, without,
Within, without,
Within, without.