| Look straight through me, look at the nightmare
|
| Our past is but a dream that we’re trying to escape
|
| Trying to evade to erase ourselves
|
| Look through me and see the advent of our obsessions
|
| Behold, your child, perfection
|
| A rotting shell of atrophy
|
| Watching: crowds like crows, we furiously flock to tragedy
|
| Observe the hurt then hasten back to our peaceful, quiet nests of blasphemy
|
| Scapegoat: rather die and know, drag your failing body in tow
|
| Witnessing the wake, conflagrate the ready oil at the stake
|
| Binging: the culmination of purging what our lusts have borne
|
| We hoarded all the world to find we’d lost any semblance of ourselves
|
| This dying dance
|
| I am not my own reflection
|
| I am not myself, I am not myself
|
| No, I am haunted by a non-existent lover
|
| The specter, the ghost, the soul-starving host
|
| I am haunted by a non-existent lover
|
| I was gifted with the vision but cursed to be the witness
|
| Invisible to me
|
| I’ll be pale to match the walls and warped to trace the beams
|
| Flushed to fit across the floor so you can step right over me
|
| Scouring this filthy slate, these crooked bones they won’t break straight
|
| Cracked and splintered like our house, upended by that first summer squall
|
| Fading: so thin, you could snap me into the shape you need
|
| Gaunt enough to slide through that wedding dress then stitch me to a
|
| Fraying matrimony
|
| Embalmed inside a never-ending ceremony
|
| I am not my own reflection
|
| I am not myself, I am not myself
|
| No, I am haunted by a non-existent lover
|
| The specter, the ghost, the soul-starving host
|
| I am haunted by a non-existent lover
|
| I was gifted with the vision but cursed to be the witness
|
| Invisible to me
|
| Invisible to me
|
| Invisible to me |