| The right of callous goes to malice
|
| Molder in the grave
|
| The scene to witness inner fitness
|
| Leaves without a wave
|
| To turn about inside the outer
|
| Layer that we save
|
| Becomes apparent when we wear it
|
| Such is the beauty that you gave
|
| You hypnotize my bloodshot eyes
|
| The night life’s latest craze
|
| They twist their shouts and jump about
|
| Our memory isn’t fazed
|
| By documentors' recent ascent
|
| Into freakish phase
|
| Remember that we are the purpose
|
| Of the human race
|
| And oh so slowly
|
| Turn to show me
|
| Where our points
|
| Are shaved
|
| To them that simply
|
| See us empty
|
| But for not our
|
| Amber waves of sin
|
| A dialogue is half created
|
| Out of our own words
|
| We like the texture and pretend
|
| That this we haven’t heard
|
| Its up to here in good defense
|
| Another loss is cruel
|
| But some how with the help of
|
| Pills, I remain a pillar calm
|
| Lets guess the number of regrets
|
| Our good life will acquire
|
| There seems to be some small
|
| Discrepancy between the truth and lie
|
| But somehow we should work around the better half of dead
|
| Wake up wake up my little one
|
| My little sleepy head |