Pretty girl under coverage of a plaid jacket
Not conformed as the rest
They have lit the fire originated from a spark in her eye
Contest the predicted end to a desolate world
Instead lifted spirit reunites with what she never had, but was always there

Beloved atrocity flatters me by any means
Dearly dishonored twist in the mind creepily transmits chills down the spine
Alter-ego of eerie grotesque underneath opposites where lay secrets kept
Wicked distortion of rise and fall like morning and night

You seem to hold traits most unique
A character described as magnificent
Salvaged out of the desperate perceived as insufficient
Peacefully pacing by with mind on your own your business
My peripheral vision caught sight right as it had slipped.

Any meaning comes from the mind
A person, place or time
Painting, belonging or song
How one values a dollar
Many people will tell you
Some holding as much evidence as a scene of a criminal investigation
Do you not see the beauty in it?
It is still up to you to believe them!
And the way that you perceive the situation is entirely weighted on your shoulders
I must say it sounds easily done although on the contrary, us as beings are the only ones who find it quite the difficult task to perform.
We forlorn to create and make; a few give, most take. So simple turned complex, seeking convenience by great measures.
I for one think the microwave has links to your brain; to why you think the way you do, instant gratitude.
Instead of any attempt to adapt or adjust, humans try to fix and cover up
Weak minded creatures we are, similar to the theory of Jigsaw*
The difference between reflex and instinct? It sure does make you think
I live in my own world for if not I would be in another's.

Her elbows rest upon a window pane whilst a longing face reflects in the tinted glass
Intensified drops pitter patter echoes from their weight when crashing into and within every surface
Take away the surplus and our time is still terribly spent, although for the most part we tend to spend it well.

I listen to hardheaded echoes
Most are disturbed by the haunting cackles
What we have been bred to believe is quite unfathomable
Yet proceed to feed as the elitest of chapels
Begin to unwind my theory of string
Followers may be all I need

Your voice rests inside of my head
A bell rings in my ear
Mumbled jumble of sorcery
None of which is clear
Yet somehow I find a trust for you
As if your love has always been near
But I have realized you are none other
Than the rest of men I hold dear
So whilst you lay in your garden
As you wait for me to approach
Broach of all that was evil is now a slit your throat
For every flail cuts deeper
Expelled by a choke
Protruding man-spoken boundaries hold such a feminine note