Jack's Twisted Kingdom
my sentiments, exactly
Stop-motion devotion and I'm drifting alone in the ersatz ocean. We
move nowhere fast through nothing but the faded visions of the
past. No one seems to understand the sovereign catalyst, in that
you have no power if you do not exist. Are we followers, blind
disciples of shattered dreams and graying flowers? Non-existent
halos soar above my soul, it's a struggle between faith and control.
Influence, No human compassion, sovereign glow. We all make the
mistake of thinking trust is something real; something we
manipulate. So how does it feel now that you're in wrack? The same
sensation as when you are stabbed in the back. Leaders, symbols,
nations, flags, Endlessly filling body bags. Ideals are nothing, I'd
rather be dead than have a false utopia hanging over my head. In
two hundred years our unjustified fears will disintegrate and wash
away all of the tears. What I wouldn't give to be alive then and know.
Our minds are immune to the sovereign glow. Lonely hallway in a
rusted high-rise, covered with ivy underneath the dark skies.
Outside the pale, behind the veil, for the wishing kind to blindly hail.
Concrete staring back at imperial wraiths, no voices, no light, no
mindless faiths, reap what you sow, blinded by the light of the
~someone, somewhere, writ in blood