In behind the walls, these crevices of mine
Ever after searching in a wasteland of a mind
Turning to the gods and turning to the grind
Ever after turning, turning, in time.
Armies in the air, the sweet scent of repentance
Thievery to care, the will to end a sentence
Turn into the one, the one that knows he meant it
Turning ever after to the good sound of resentment
I've seen it all before, the parasites surround
Found it on the floor in the blindness of a crowd.
Nature may continue, the instinct may allow,
But nature will kill you when it fails to stand its ground.
...I don't think I heard it!
Always time for you to start your shift as when you learned it
You know it's not my fault, you know I don't deserve it;
But such is the fate of an existential servant.
And there's nothing in the way, nothing in the way...
So I guess I'm here today, guess I'm here to stay.
What is a famous man fighting for a real life?
Why is this talisman feeling so surreal, like
Birds in a nest, still waiting for a mother,
Like words in a breast, parading in a sudden thunder?
Who really cares for the deep, growling hunger
In the stomach of the media, stuck in another
Simple image of perfection, a cover of deception
The bridge of misdirection, unbridled in conception
It's a sad place, ain't it? Nothing ever grows and nothing dies
Caught in a system of manipulation, secrecy, and lies,
But who am I to sit complaining for society's regression,
When we know it's always raining in society's depression...!Listen very closely, put your ear up to the wall
Hear the desperate families scrambling through the mighty hall
Can you understand it? Is there anything at all?
Can you understand the way you shut me in the gall?
Now it's just a habit that turns into a rhyme,
Cutting fault lines in passing glances by the bloody knife.
Is it easy now that you've eaten such a lie?
Is it easy always turning back for a sign?
We know it's not your fault, we know it all across the board,
There's only one in seven thousand so familiar to the core,
There's only one so very proud inside they'd leave it to a heathen:
For a season they'd secede to two or three that they believe in.
But could I help you realize there's nothing left to say
in such a closing world that badly curled this masochistic May,
But maybe I'm overreacting, who can really tell the difference?
In a world so full of acting, who has seen the reference?--Is this what you wanted? Did you giggle at the sound?
And for the children looking on it did you throw the pants down,
Revealing dark secrets clamoring inside an empty shell;
And I've seen it shattering the very highest Hell..
Who could know what's going on inside the earth's unholy center
What could really measure out the simple numbers just to render
out a generation bound for something more than just a quake,
When we know it's not your fault, when I know it's all your fault--