Lightless candle scenes, exposing suicidal dreams. With true ever madly, bleeding through ever gladly.
In my ear the squawk, putrid air of mindless talk. Forsaken, so called tasteful, the of the wasteful.
Given bitter cancerous caring, as is without sharing. sheltered, waterless, are true when empty and pitiless.
Never are broken to mending, nor the solace of an ending. Left to choices of what pays, with fears of forgotten days.
Callous eyes of selfish hounds, no regard their bounds. Caught in leashes veiled strictness, to their blind witness.
I can't your mindless philosophies, and the things you reek of insanity. I can't stand desire to make us homogeneous, and the you do are cold and callous. I stand your oblivious hypocrisies, and the things you for rot society.
In blinding of the sun, see the madness to be spun. Insanity's love for crippled saneness, truths in its plainness.
Weakness given to the weary, paleness of sees so clearly. Safe in covers they are under, candies of worthless wonder.
to one who dances, with out music to false romances. Cluttering clear and spaces, giving rise to imagined graces.
Invisible minds sing to masses, the merry sheep empty glasses. Not foot or underway, when to stop, is to runaway.
In sunny sightlessness, are the fools with cheerfulness. When are like reins to an empty bridle, they are cyanidal.
so poisonously suicidal, you're cyanidal...and I I can't it, I can't stand it...oh...