Trawling the past for answers to the questions of darker days.
And there's a thirst for more than the pale truth betrays...
...For old clichés
...For conclusions delayed...

The more you "know" yourself, the less of you I know.
Or rather, the more of you I miss.

Serendipity's a disguise for your destiny's slow demise.
This entropy is rendering your autonomy compromised.
The dichotomy just clarifies that discoveries are made of lies.
Identity goes hand in hand with gullibility; hence, the new you.

Mapping the walls within the fortuneteller's maze.
And paraphrasing your indiscretions in a language out of phase
Like withered bouquets, like desire's decay.

The more you "know" yourself the less of me you know.
Or rather, the more of me you'll miss.

Serendipity's a disguise for your destiny's slow demise.
This entropy is rendering your autonomy compromised.
The dichotomy just clarifies that discoveries are made of lies.
Identity goes hand in hand with gullibility;
Hence, the new you.

What's never been addressed, or gotten off your chest
Leaves you dispossessed in your own skin.
This plea to transcend, an excuse to pretend.
New beginnings are just another end.
With a dram of nepenthe, this "you" is a fait accompli.

Serendipity's a disguise for your destiny's slow demise.
This entropy is rendering your autonomy compromised.
The dichotomy just clarifies that discoveries are made of lies.
Identity goes hand in hand with gullibility;
hence, the new you...