your mind builds up walls just for them to fall, a feeling of dread is left instead
|The dilemma that will reach you all,|
the feeling that foreshadows the fall,
it’s felt but forgotten over time,
it's easier that way to control the mind.
Pop the capillaries for broken dreams,
stories lost, forgotten and forever unseen.
metallic pipes seem to have fingernails,
crimson's impressive at the start, but now it's pale.
March to the beat, hear the drum;
the tattered books are the open ones,
beat the chest and beat the skin,
grab the little dolls and their sharp pins.
We'll stick with the mightiest of varicose veins,
built with haemorrhaging to go against the grain,
the weird thing is, this wheat seems to taste like sand,
bragging rights all around with albatrosses in hand.