| We cast no shadow
|
| The stars do not shine here
|
| Be content to light your own path
|
| And burn what you have crossed
|
| The bridges were frail
|
| The people, pretended
|
| Storm forth with the light of the inflamed
|
| Reclaim and ignite the sky
|
| Brightly to blind
|
| Rip off the veneers enabling opportunists to thrive
|
| Dam the rise of grime and rats
|
| More sickening than a social circle that believes itself charmed
|
| Are the writhing droves of blowhards and yes men
|
| Clamoring to slither in
|
| Stay sovereign on the outside
|
| We are who finished last
|
| The unaffected
|
| Contrasting the wide and white
|
| We are who finish last
|
| Sound
|
| Indignant
|
| The iron to gleaming teeth
|
| The salt on saccharin
|
| We who finish last
|
| Proudly in their darkness
|
| Lit from within
|
| Glad hands grabbing for brass rings
|
| Painting their bricks gold
|
| Keen sycophants filthy scheming
|
| Furthering the feuds of their adored
|
| They have picked their enemies impeccably
|
| Very keen indeed
|
| And so siege the scorned
|
| We are naught but beds of thorns and dark horses
|
| Unwelcome guests who will just not mind their place
|
| A single musket ball to pierce and lodge inside
|
| And lead the circle to crack
|
| We cast no shadow
|
| The stars do not shine here
|
| No genuine light to be found
|
| Only rays of cold, synthetic beams on a mock aristocracy
|
| So the vain and insecure can feel revered and cared for
|
| For a cheap, fleeting moment
|
| Truly noble
|
| Storm forth with the light
|
| We who finish last
|
| Proudly in our darkness
|
| Lit from within
|
| Conflict in the chest
|
| To be concerned for the needs of such heartless men |