From a portrait jumps the memory
That someday was real
And now it feels just so empty, dilacerated
So tiring is this war to recover missing taste
Those flasks hold only water
Hands clap just like steam hammers
And no one seems to notice
No one will rush down
And cry the stop between the fanfares
Only in pain the sick man can be
Seeking more sickness
An upcoming sociopath
Needy citizen
Diagnosing everyone
Doctor, will this pill cure this world
Or just my vision?
Hands clap just like steam hammers
And no one seems to notice
No one will rush down
And cry the stop between the fanfares
Nature is just opposition
Conscience, meta perception
The corner of the bed
Expanding universe
Asks for more darkness as the pupil dilates
Cure is not so pure
It is constant prevention
Do never feed the worms
Don’t feed the worms
Beg for some weight
Fill bodies with soul
For the organic to cover the mold
Make the purpose be born from the spur
For the sepia be covered with color
