The sky is of a colour that is dark
The stuff of thy dead wisdom was too bright
The skin of this being is too thick
The matter and the substance there to trick
I do not fall upon you by your gravity of thought
I do not play with you because of your benign aproach
If I indeed prey on you it's for the poison in your blood
that makes you doomed.
And I do stare at you for the sickness that is there
As you have taken measures for my earth to remain bare
I do not feel pity for the weakness that's in you
I do not fear the words that you have claimed to be true
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Sometimes they make me wonder,
if I'm true.
Sometimes they make me die
Sometimes they burn my flesh
Sometimes they stab me in the eyes
Sometimes they rip my guts out
They amputate me, oh.
But I must love them all
I cannot be untrue
They haven't changed at all
They're wearing various masks
As they all did before
I wouldn't dare ask why
