Time is wearing down on our body and our minds
Find myself dislocated, suspended in the same place throughout all these years
Lapse of time
Everything in some way or another has blurred together with the same black backdrop
We are disgruntled!
We are exhausted!
We are psychologically unsound!
We are ageing too fast!
The world is heating up in so many ways
Rapidly under pressures, ideas of being, completely displaced
Some, so it seems, have just given up
While others simply exchange tools for instruments of idle play
Either way! Instruments of idle play!
Either way! Just instruments of rapid decay!
You can’t argue with the tied-up knots in your throat
That feeling that some things just aren’t right
Like the wind blowing through the streets on such a quiet, vacant night
I can feel the silent, morose cries
As if belted out a thousand times in unison