It infiltrates, insidious, it feigns at love, betrays our trust in what weve known, since we were born. the truth we've found in all we see points to design, still our chests swell, well never find true answers from a wishing well. so feed us all to still our thoughts, to chance the way we see, we live, we love, we die, another lie, appease our pride, so we wont have our blasphemy, our lust precedes like notes from tainted autopsy. our logic reads our souls they speak of something more, (solo by Teppei) but we can't look beyond ourselves. we implore empty skies because our heats hold room for no one else, we extend our claws to grasp at shadows of the lost causalities of a subtle dagger, ideals we have, buried to the hilt in our hearts, blood on our hands.
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