| For all your ruminations on strength and purpose
|
| There’s only dust collecting
|
| In a mind where none can find you
|
| You’ve shown a wealth of disease
|
| A hand that’s broken in fractions
|
| A face that’s masked in decay
|
| With no body to call his own now
|
| He’s turning inward
|
| I, I’ve lost faith
|
| There’s only ugliness here
|
| Only death can find me
|
| So we know that nothing’s true
|
| In all your life there’s deception
|
| That somewhere truth can be found
|
| In a house where faith has failed you
|
| There is no use in defending
|
| A hand that’s broken in fractions
|
| A face that’s masked in decay
|
| With no body to call his own now
|
| He’s turning inward
|
| I, I’ve lost faith
|
| There’s only ugliness here
|
| Only death can find me
|
| So we know that nothing’s true
|
| We knew another way
|
| To live beyond our despair
|
| You’re gone, we’re here
|
| So we know that death is real
|
| And we know that death is real
|
| Thoughts of delusion behind stagnant cold eyes
|
| Faces masked inside a house decayed and twisting
|
| All around me are the plastic holy relics
|
| They remind me of my vibrance, gone
|
| Only death can find me
|
| I, I’ve lost faith
|
| There’s only ugliness here
|
| Only death can find me
|
| So we know that nothing’s true
|
| We knew another way
|
| To live beyond our despair
|
| You’re gone, we’re here
|
| So we know that death is real |