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Inglese
Inglese
It infiltrates
Insidious
It feigns at love
Betrays our trust
In what we've known
Since we were born
The truth we've found in all we see
Points to design
Still our chests swell
We'll never find
True answers from a wishing well
So feed us all
Another lie
To still our thoughts
Appease our pride
So we won't have
To change the way we see, we live, we love, we die
Our lusts precede
Our blasphemy
Our logic reads
Like notes from tainted autopsy
Our souls they speak of something more
But we can't look beyond ourselves
We implore empty skies because
Our hearts hold room for no one else
We extend our
Claws to grasp at shadows of the
Ideals we have
Lost causalities of a subtle dagger
Buried to the
Hilt in our hearts, blood on our hands
Lithium
Modi di dire
| 1. | to the hilt |
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