Listen Up!
It doesn't make much sense
To go around fearing the world you created

It's a simple niche
Limp body, left to fill it.
And all this talk of perfection

Is defining your actions
It takes a toll on you


Never cloud the images of ones
You're trying to remember
It's all a matter of opinion


So much can change when comfort kicks in
Stop searching souls for soulless companions


The misdirected audience
Gets stranded in the fire

If it ever comes, times are changing
Innocent ones
So, take it for what it's worth

And be Grateful for it
Will never come
As expected


Let's set the stage
And kill the lights

The sand sifts through your fingers
It's chipping at the bone
Chipping at the bone

A life slowly remembered
That fabricates the soul
Fabricates the soul

Fabricates the soul

It's a simple niche

With, Limp body, left
To fill it.