Prayers on a battlefield, raising concern or artistic beauty
Through twisted analogies of trouble
Of misery doubled transfixed into a martyr mural
Tears shed over miracles...are we condemned 'cause we're confused?
I refuse to groove to your out of tune monotonous muse (move)
Salvation that lies beyond the grey skies or lies within you (move)
Is it now accepted as a wretched topic of chronic misconceptions?
But no budge in believers to reconsider any terms of their conviction?

Windows to my soul indisposed many moons ago, now wanderers of the humble 2x

Bombs beneath the sky, reaching the outer limits of our demise
Why should there be a reply of salvation to straighten crooked lives
Passing no judgement when I deserve the punishment
Rectified and rebuilt like armed saints willing to carry out the covenant

Branded flocks are the forsaken sons of liberty
Vilified where the headlines always scream the same stories of hybrid moments
Faith of what is more, riches of the poor, of torpid stares
Beware of lost tribes and families who have more than enough pain to bear

My tragedies depicted in Rorshach, what do you see?
Trying to hold on, holding on to those wistful dreams
Of her warm embrace, exclusively bestowed for no one other
Surrendering to the smiles but a faint indication of bedlam grows closer
Undefined nature fills the space, hear the soundwaves where doves die
And the howling rush of bullets biting the blue skies blend into a blackened sense
Metal dent, wade through the shreds
The setting tunes into a soundtrack to reflect the edge to the world's end
Disposable servant like the rest, we perish, they collect, blood will follow blood
Trace of hints grounded through the mess
Bloom a messge into aesthetics, flowers from demons
In the abyss of fallen seasons, short of reason, a crave for dreaming
Burn on what heaven fuels, whats worth needing is worth bleeding
Fringes of composure on whats adored...

Windows to my soul indisposed many moons ago, now wanderers of the humble

From no splendor to squalor, a lie highly held in honor
Decreed by non chalant nods, lesser of men, more of monsters
Secure a trail to...where no one cares and no one bothers
Dogma of attrition, no nirvana yonder

Branded flocks are the forsaken sons of liberty
Vilified where the headlines always scream the same stories of hybrid moments
Faith of what is more, riches of the poor, of torpid stares
Beware of lost tribes and families who have more than enough pain to bear