The world goes round.
So why do we go straight?
A set path we have paved,
Through the blood of Earth.

This is the way of the world.
The way of the world is us.
Drowning our guilt,
In the Earth's innocence.

One's an accident.
Twice, a coincident.
Three's a pattern.
Four's just pushing it.

Soon we'll be lying on our backs,
Eyes half-closed, minds so cold,
In the shallows of what we have broken,
In the pain of what we leave behind.

We are in the center
The center will hold
But our center has already fallen
It cannot hold any longer.