Strings pull our limbs to the
Proper places without restraint
The day begins with confusion, aware
Continue to construct amongst the pretentious puppets
Hands be numb to the sensation of consciousness
Swarms built to serve as copycats
In the footsteps of the wicked
Eyes transfixed, hailed to monotony
Of the moments we forge, conviction holds us high
Above the infection of time
Return to the voice of grandeur
Cut the strings and sing your song of rapture
In love with the creation of lifeless bodies
Forbidden to taste the truth, the
Sharpest needles feel like the dullest of words
Spoken without passion, begin to
Self absorb the reasons beyond reason
