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It’s yours right, this house with the boarded up doors right. Poor sight, like maybe it’s mine, and you made it in time with the foresight to light a torch and torch this place. Co-ordinate my life with yours. Private wars and a core to relate in a world that you made full of minor chords. Find the oars, lie in the wake. Quiet your mind, they’re lying in wait. They’re firing everything all over everywhere, everyone in the asylum is safe.
First-person shot shows a hand holding a lit wooden torch. The torch illuminates a dilapidated and abandoned two-story wooden house with dark and gloomy weather. There are trees growing around it. The text on the left says "It's yours right, this house with the boarded up doors right. Poor sight, like maybe it's mine, and you made it in time with the foresight to light a torch and torch this place. Co-ordinate my life with yours. Private wars and a core to relate in a world that you made full of minor chords. Find the oars, lie in the wake. Quiet your mind, they're lying in wait. They're firing everything all over everywhere, everyone in the asylum is safe."