First the faces get blurry
Then the story gets full of holes
The inner speech is slurry
And you lose yourself between poles
The rot hits where it should have hurt
But now you're feeling late
With a mindful of fancy dirt
In a fragmented state
Losing another word
Leaking another name
Throwing bonds overboard
But nobody's to blame
Families of strangers
With voices from back home
Never knew the dangers
Of life under this dome
Some might say that a seahorse
Went off to the races
Presumably trailed far off course
The map's missing places
Get lost just like another day
Reality's a work of fiction
Sometimes molded with tainted clay
By a vision for infliction
Each of the sides of the schism
Serves as mirror to the abyss
Witnessing through a crooked prism
Transcendental is hit or miss
Where to begin when it's the end ?
Win when there's nothing left to lose
You know the night doesn't pretend
Everything is confuse