Sometimes the fondness
Of what we feel inside
Can't fill the void
Tragedy tries to hide

For we seem to long
For suffering, masquerading
As if it's happiness
We seek

But the irony's what's
Funny, 'cause the turmoil
Boasts of self-righteous
Anger

Where it's always someone
Else who is
To blame

And it's always us who's
Done the sacrifices
For the game

It's all nothing
But neediness, preparing us
To be accepting of what we ultimately are

Savages.