Delinquents perform instantaneous falls into a tortured well.
Where in seamless fashion increase the heart rates in echoes,
and tell the leaders to walk fast, for we are close behind.
The road to true freedom lies in heart of sinner. where thoughts of lost loves and lifes dance ever so quick to judge me, for I am a holder of sin and triumph and I can never let that go.
They try to say that my salvation will sail above me. That the beauty of the trees and stars were not mine from the start, and that everything ive earned and learned I should be looking up to thanks.
But what we've hold to be true is that my blood should have all the thanks, my heart and my soul are the only things that push me to my next day, and fill my world with what I have to give, and what ive had taken from my life.
The people of my generation have lost there way in thinking for themselves. Mindless bags of bones following the kin before, with no lungs to breathe in the new air. The air of despair and heartbreak, of pain and tourture. The air of lust and love, and the feeling of being alone.
Sharing the falsity of told news they looked up for the blame.
Which told us doing nothing and knowing the same was always best,
and lies kept the mass in the fog, to never see the light.
So we struggle to find a breaking point, never knowing how much torture is enough.