Within the shadow of a false icon,
Which hangs over me like fallen titans,
The ones who in the darkness of ignorance wore capes and flew,
But now wear maniacal grins and snarl to.
The same person who used to make you want to say live,
Now only force you to to spell it backwards and with yourself become more combative.

He says he misses me,
But that would make three,
Me, mom and The Monster,
He says "straighten your postue"
I miss the days I could look past your hypocrisies,
Back when I could look at your  and think "these are the right policies "
In my time of need,
You can't seem to see,
Your voice make me bleed,
You're whose killing me

To be stuck in a house, but not a home,
Trapped inside not a shrine, but a tomb,
Imprisoned by the voice that used to be that of ideology and hope,
Which is now the voice of the hate that hangs me like a rope,
The voice that tears my mind in two,
One side screaming "you are wrong," and I should be rejecting you,
The other side creeping and deafaningly whispers I am the infection, adieu.