Woorden: Boys Night Out. Sentencing.

the smell of her perfume struggles to cover everything inside this ringing room
though once subdued, the silence seems to sing
whoa-oh, i told you so
whoa-oh, i told you so
my name is evidence, my role is undeniable, unless i've become inadmissible
in crimes of consequence, i'm only as reliable as the defendant's defense is defendable
i am the kill; though i'm unwilling to be still and accept this evil as my own personal - and sentient - will.
nothing makes sense anymore, when murder's just a mistake that you have made
nothing makes sense anymore, so a sick and guilty man will be born again with conscience saved
judicial precedent will see to that, i'll see to that, he'll see to that,
it's impossible given the incident, given his catatonic state
to imagine it playing out any other way?
he was admitted on that day, the doctor read his case,
there were implausibilities he couldn't place
and it was obvious that there was something more to this
patient. something had been missed. "it's this hold i can see in each of his eyes...
where all of the events that happen in this real world kind of just fall through"
it's loneliness, it's loneliness
nothing makes sense anymore, when murder's just a mistake that you have made
nothing makes sense anymore, so sick and guilty men will be born again with consciences