Speaking through lips that have for so long been numb
the words which make you tremble, to which your body succumbs –
down, groveling, on broken knees; you're faiths little whore,
hypnotized, believing every dead word – longing for more.
Your mind has been soiled and you quickly sold your soul,
then threw away your voice, silenced your will, to be under invisible control.
Bowing down, you are merely the host of personality, an obscure facade;
you're being hung by your very own chains: when it asks you simply nod.
Put under a spell, you're craving again, the touch of its deepest sin,
asking, begging – suffocating underneath your own reality, dying within –
throwing yourself in front of the swords first kiss, its finest blade;
slowly sinking in this imaginary quick-sand, simply falling, you'll soon fade.
Controlled by the immense war of thoughts, the death toll rises yet another bar,
leaving not a single soul to mourn over the loss of who you really are –
for no soul will ever see the breeze that has been caught, sucked dry from any desire
you're left to stare at the crumbling wall. Hopeless, deceived by your inner fire.
The plain existence of your imperfect stupidity, listens only to the masters word:
dancing to each tune it hums, worshiping each line that's said; everyone else goes unheard.
Seductive – it has you under its skin, pulling the unseen strings so you'll never impose.
You're lost in the tempest of an entire world of your own, a road you think you chose.