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 chance the way we see, we live, we
love, we die,

our lust precedes, 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
casualties of a subtle dagger, buried to the hilt in our hearts, blood
on our hands.