Caught Amongst The Nets Of A Circus Show

The Comfort Has Finally Ceased To Grow

As Reason Screams Aloud

At The Applause Of A Disfigured Crowd

Now Spirit Begs To Grow

Its Sound As Empty As The Abyss Below

Theories Uprooted From Existence

Allow Your Dreams To Be Postponed

An Immoral Code Where Theft Is The Essence

Criminal If It Should Ever Be Condoned

Faking Life Until Flaws Become Weapons

Much Valued At The Market Of Souls

This Is A Trade Of Yet Unknown Dimensions

A Matter Of Time Before They Learn Their Roles

Welcome The Sons Of The Afterbirth

Injecting Falsehood Deep Into This Earth

Running Like Orphans At The Warmth Of A Light

Reaching Like Newborns At The Sight Of A Face

Selling Their Diamonds For Others To Carve

Trading Their Pearls For Pork Chop Hurls

This Is A Trade Of Yet Unknown Dimensions

A Matter Of Time Before They Learn Their Roles

Flattering Diversions Is All They Know

The Core Of Their Work Is A Race To Drain Your Flow

A Stagnating Vacuum Forbidding All Motion

A Pretending And Dry Well Mocking The Ocean

Three Swinging Hands Conducting A Nation

A Sad Turn Of Events For Modern Civilization

Few Would Admit Their Hidden Love For Quicksand

(But) Speak Of God And Salvation And Watch The Raising Hand

Another Sunday Afternoon For This Mindless Crowd

Applauding Fiercely At The Gloom Of A Broken Will

You Won't See Their Faces

It Is A Shame To Be Proud

It's One Cynical Board game

Where Those Who Don't Play Pay The Bill

Applauding Grimly At The Dread Of A Failed Ideal

For Every Roll Of Dice

Another Guilty Look Into The Eyes Of Evil