How could we have defecated our own self worth?
Prolonging our progress, only to justify meaning with feeding a hungry machine.
Imagery portraying worthless blind tyrants.
Yet you kiss their feet and spread pedals of worn flowers upon their staining path.
As your tongues lay nailed to the bottom of your jaw, while pulling teeth with feeble hands.
Eyes transfixed on a dying sun, this paper currency is it edible?
May the integrity of this night sky shroud over the ashes from these withering stone built steeples.
Raise the curtain, drop the oars, motion this boat towards land, 
Weighing our idle minds as the flutter of the ocean's waves…this is a sinking story.

An overbearing weight of books written by gray haired men,
Written with disappearing ink, only to maintain ones present in life for the open bar of Christ’s blood.
Obsessive Jesus-eaters learned through pressed hands and Amen.
I’ll smile once their havens of torture are set ablaze, the divinity of our worth will triumph.
Our children will laugh and play, a somber dissonance will warm us when climates are harsh.
Alas this dream is hopeful thinking. Burn churches, end church-going.

Gaze from afar the scatter of this endless rat race.
Look as blood vessels carrying nourishment to their queen.
Our feet is placed in a box containing cement, we’re slowly sinking.
Soon the water will fill our lungs, the charade of working has come to it’s end of days.
Worthless wages wearing our appendages. This is our burden manufacturing buildings towering over us.
We’re the bacteria of our surroundings.
Nothing for me to do, nothing for me to say.
Nothing for me to think, nothing for me to sing.
And it slips away, you can’t hold on,
We are all timepieces. My hands turn into clocks.
We are all timepieces. Is love only for want?

Monotony misanthropy for this useless routine.
Raised arms forfeiting to right our wrongs.
As vultures fell from the clouds to devour weary poachers,
I extend my discerning dreams of a disgust with a child bearing a wooden cross.
How could we have spoiled such sweet fruit? let us carve this wood into nothing.
A mother standing blank faced, her child wandering this dirty floor.
She molded his youth into a rotted existence…
She asked herself, "What have I done? What could have I done?" 
She cheats herself.

(The worst thing i said was that I loved you)
I know you’ll never be the same.
I know you’ll never ever change.
‘cause I know it eats away at you.
Wrap me in a blanket of a manifest dream.
The curtain falls over everything I see.
Wrap me in a blanket of a manifest dream.
I’ve lost it all and you’re not the same.