Know the sin, disengage within. Turn over and play the cards we've dealt, as another day is sentenced to death. Rise above or become a hopeless survivour,
treading water for the slaughter.




No debate, our past is made. Once again

second rate will fade. Second rate will fade.




Consumed and controlled, by hurt and
hardship - don't let another day be

sentenced to death.




Cos we're cut out, cut to doubt. We may
try to cut out what we feel. Though we're cut to doubt what is real, we feel.



Renew from restraint, condemned by

complaint, cos fate's a fine dotted line.
Cos we may try to cutout what is real,
I won't let my doubt control the way I

feel. We may try, to cut out what we feel
thought it is real. Cut out our doubt.