Burn the skin of acquisition, the taste must be forbidden your masterpiece waiting to be written. Accountance of the mind to be smitten by false pretension. Your redemptive views are the daggers filling up your sides, those silent whispers that trigger unsuspecting fear of self demise, but lingering suspicions are overlooked by addiction. And you're lieing in your own filthy position. Remission are unbalanced and you won't listen, imprisoned in your own decision. Tattered feelings pushing all your strength away. Hoping it find it in that lie someday. And you've displaced me so well, it's hard to tell whos face it is, just once more.