I've picked a winner for the miscommunication of the preacher.
He's promises he's not a liar, they're calling on a common teacher.
Yet in the name of telling lies, no one dares to make amends.
The opposite of friendship lives while the world begins to end.

No matter who you are,
can you look into the sunset
and tell me that it's beautiful?

What a pretty disaster flooding the night sky
as we all hold handguns to our heads to save our sorry lives.
We have bloodstains on our clothes to prove we ripped ourselves apart.
Seven Deadly Sins we wasted to mend our broken hearts.

Why do we say "pass the scalpel" when we're asking for our bread?
There were merchants before singers, before microphones replaced the salesmen.
It's a department store of pacifists all lined up in a row
but apathy reigns at its finest, admiring our false hope.

Don't you love every cliche from the history books?
Every word is a secret left to tell
but we'll be too busy dying to admire the beautiful craft of our own destruction,
as we grow old with regret and a soul to sell.

Because whoever you are,
you won't look into the sunset
and admit that it is beautiful.