This is a ploy of cold, crass, sheep.
To only milk the pieces of truth that suit their means
And I was just wandering what you thought it’d bring
So hey, there’s a poison in your skin, I see it quietly
seeping out of it
Hey there’s a poison in your skin.
I see it coming, saw it coming out.
And I am the fortunate one
This, an attempt at feeding primal needs,
has woken all the demons that reside inside of me
And you still say that I am the fortunate one
Well I could wash my hands to pretend they’re clean,
or I could purge my lips of spineless speech,
but the consequence of knowledge is an eager tongue
Don’t you leave, I wasn’t finished. This isn’t over.
I will be heard
Every last word will have its turn
Mine may be the words unwisely sewn, to cultivate the
path that I have chose
Mine may be the words you’ll never know but lay me in the
dirt and I will grow
Are you listening? Cause my breath grows null
Tired quips begin to wither
Who can reason with time?
Lay me in the dirt and I will grow