The rains were pounding on my rooftop
Like an animal ripping through a cage
And now that you’re gone
There’s no reason for me to stay on
I want to go back home
Where I only know the less-knows
I want to break free from all these freaks
Come visit me in dreamland
And talk in a voice that’s echoic
The invisible man was the ghost of a woman
And a famous rip-off artist
In the ancestral halls where the yellow wallpaper begs
For my superstitions
I’ve stood on the fence
For long enough to blеnd
The person I was then with who I am now
It’s my shing hour
Ring out a joyful hymn
For thе prisoner on the high roads of the globe
The music of the spheres
A sel-styled astronomer’s hoax
One by one I’ve unhooked the stars
And hid them in my coattails
Who will carry the torch
Who will inherit the throne
All of the posers are inching closer
Even the losers and clones
An organ rises
A distant wailing
Somewhere on the periphery
My contempt for you is marching on
Bittersweet and unreleting
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Imaad Wasif Lyrics – The Hand Of The Imposter