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lyrics
Planet all we live on
Forsaken in it's name
We have carried out indecency
A virus to take aim
No help for those a fallen
They're lying in their shame
Burning all around us
Spin and play the game
I'm pretty sure this is what dying feels like
My head is light, something doesn't feel right
Double crossed by life, in the presence of death
Every time I inhale, I'm gasping for a breath.
I'm pretty sure I think I'm dyin'
I'm pretty sure... I'm dyin'
Freedom seekers yearning
Hallowed be thy name
Fake, faux, a facade it seems
A virus is to blame
Boasting peace to every neighbor
But hypocrisy and shame
Falls for empty promises
The middle of the game
I'm pretty sure this is what dying feels like
My chest is tight, something doesn't feel right
Double crossed by life, in the presence of death
Every time I inhale, I'm gasping for a breath.
I'm pretty sure I think I'm dyin'
I'm pretty sure... I'm dyin'
Green and blue no longer
Fire mixed with rain
Decay for any living
In this blackened state
Nations plead for virtue
But we play this little game
Power over people
Has no peace and only pain
What is Freedom?
Is it a privilege? Brought upon those worthy at birth, wasted on high tech empty vessels, cast out and forced to wipe the spit off its face?
Is it earned? Something that is not actually instilled in us, but instead a realization thrusting its ideals both big and small throughout our being?
Is it power? Refusing to share, unjustly believing not all are of equivalence and different, blindly seeking what is right, but never what is right for all?
Does it hide away? Or is it in plain sight? Is it attainable to all, none, some, most or few?
Is it worth questioning?
Are you free? Are we stuck?
Can we see depth or is the shallow end too cold to break through?
To hell with shackles.
A fire will burn through the chill of weak metals making malleable chains.
The possibilities are endless. The door is open.
Possibilities can be beautiful so long as there are never limits.
Doors lead to the unimaginable so long as nothing can slam them shut.
The sound of your voice pleases the ear only when your prayers are being answered.
Answers can never be perfect without questions.
Questions can never be fully answered.
Not without every truth. Not without every possibility. Not without every thought.
The route of an open mind is endless and has no set destination.
What is impossible?
Every breath you take has the potential to be your last.
Every breath you take fills you with life's illusions.
Both tragic and wonderful.
Never be satisfied.
The eyes of the satisfied are closed, cutting off sight.
The satisfied knows no glory, no shame, no reason.
Dead already... And plenty satisfied.
At the end of a sentence comes a period, putting an end to a guideline...
Demanding you cease.
Is freedom as simple as a question?
Why not just ask?
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