| The narrow road is all I know
|
| No map to guide us
|
| No compass beside us
|
| The narrow road
|
| The great unknown
|
| The greater sacrifice grants the greatest gift in life
|
| No more assembly lines of aspirations connecting carbon copy clones
|
| Every artifact is marching like commodities of flesh and bone
|
| The consistency of our censored thoughts
|
| Tread a static course
|
| Ordinary people: your outlook is lethal
|
| Ordinary people: your outlook is lethal
|
| Chiseling away imperfections
|
| Until rough edges are same and smooth
|
| The tools have now become too blunt
|
| To break any of the rules
|
| Post-modern minds bleached blank and clean
|
| Drawing pixelated lines
|
| In duller shades than my eyes have ever seen
|
| The narrow road is all I know
|
| No map to guide us
|
| No compass beside us
|
| The narrow road
|
| The great unknown
|
| The greater sacrifice grants the greatest gift in life
|
| No more assembly lines of aspirations connecting carbon copy clones
|
| Every artifact is marching like commodities of flesh and bone
|
| Post-modern minds bleached blank and clean
|
| Drawing pixelated lines
|
| In duller shades than my eyes have ever seen
|
| We’re not defined by a blueprint if we re-write the plan
|
| So will you paint paradise with the stroke of an artist’s hand?
|
| We’re not defined by a blueprint if we re-write the plan
|
| So will you paint paradise with the stroke of an artist’s hand? |