| And though the fear has passed
|
| I know
|
| That this hollow sophistry
|
| Is just residual entropy
|
| An asinine confluence
|
| Of dull minds and
|
| Embittered revelry
|
| Your embarrassing sciamachy
|
| Wretched, unhinged, unholy
|
| Besotted with silk and folly
|
| And yet their faces, familiar
|
| The contours
|
| A picture
|
| Of grace once withheld
|
| Now left in squalor to melt
|
| Before our world could start
|
| We tore ourselves apart
|
| I exist as
|
| Nothing but stress and colours
|
| Burn with the love, unsold
|
| The lies that you were told
|
| I exist as
|
| Nothing but stress and colours
|
| Poison (purpose)
|
| Melt your resolve
|
| Happily graft to the truncheon
|
| Made of your bones
|
| Wielded by saviours
|
| Reticent to leave good deeds unseen
|
| And whether you’re a product of the meek or the wild
|
| Inherited genetics from a womb crystallized
|
| You’ll never be wrong, never need to bend
|
| Be the last defense against the unwashed throng
|
| (This can’t be the end)
|
| Before our world could start
|
| We tore ourselves apart
|
| I exist as
|
| Nothing but stress and colours
|
| Burn with the love, unsold
|
| The lies that you were told
|
| I exist as
|
| Nothing but stress and colours
|
| Before our world could start
|
| We tore ourselves apart
|
| I exist as
|
| Nothing but stress and colours
|
| Burn with the love, unsold
|
| The lies that you were told
|
| I exist as
|
| Nothing but stress and colours
|
| Before our world could start
|
| I exist as
|
| Nothing but stress and colours
|
| Burn with the love, unsold
|
| I exist as
|
| Nothing but stress and colours |