This is not story for the kids.
This is just a testimony of a lie
and a forgotten case of living what could be a life.
Self-anticipation is no glory when you're living in the past;
it just may be redemption but that may not be good enough.

Running out of seconds, it's an hourglass of blood lost
where the bruises burn reminders into scars.
Look down, your head's alive
but there is no answer to a cry
you never screamed aloud to the shadows.

Where is righteousness when you're trapped inside a bottle?
Everybody searches for an institute of nothingness
but who will be the last to close the door on all our hurtful wishes?
Outside, this is reality where we're only free with loneliness.

At night, if the lightning strikes
to illuminate your silhouette against the moonlight,
tonight, it can be alright if you can face persistance.
Miscommunication at its finest
can run through shallow water
to repel the antique failures of existence.

These are not the messages meant to save humanity
if it's all based upon this lie, if it is based upon your dignity.
Living with your eyes open is not quite something to appreciate
until you swallow your sight, turning this vision blind.