| You wanna strip away
|
| Veracity is great
|
| But you’ll bleed
|
| And all
|
| For a lukewarm embrace
|
| You serrate your face
|
| With glee
|
| Don’t waste your candor
|
| On bystanders
|
| They’ll watch you waste away, waste away, waste away, waste away
|
| What’s the use of confessing the truth
|
| To an executioner in a booth
|
| About the dueling forces in you?
|
| Now you barely remember your youth
|
| You used to embrace the eerie and helm
|
| Visitations from spirit realms
|
| Gifted to see between astral planes
|
| Now you plead to be plain
|
| A bystander
|
| Of bygon standards
|
| They’ll watch you waste away, waste away, wast away, waste away
|
| Don’t waste your candor
|
| On bystanders
|
| They’ll watch you waste away, waste away, waste away, waste away
|
| Waste away, waste away, waste away, waste away
|
| Waste away, waste away, waste away, waste away
|
| Waste away, waste away, waste away, waste away
|
| Waste away, waste away, waste away, waste away
|
| And it’s true that the truth gives you free
|
| But when truth is a breach of decree
|
| Dying for praise from a gallery
|
| Whose morality is grey
|
| And they tie all their stones to your name
|
| And they cripple your bones with their shame
|
| Honesty is the most moral way
|
| But morality is grey |