Turn twice, Turn twice again,
As the angels call and now is then,
When the hand is dead and the roulette is black,
Wait for it, the repeating track.
It calls and calls, through hallowed halls,
A walled cry from beyond life's crawls,
It waits for pity, it waits for silence,
A man broken down to shallow compliance.
When life grows dull and shadows linger,
Wait for the witches crooked finger,
Wait for her to take you back,
Confused, broken, an amnesiac.
Stuck, Trapped, a page in a story,
Within the utopian purgatory,
But as you put paper to pen,
Ostinato, again, again