Listen Up!
It doesn't make much sense
To go around fearing the world you created
It's a simple niche
Limp body, left to fill it.
And all this talk of perfection
Is defining your actions
It takes a toll on you

Never cloud the images of ones
You're trying to remember
It's all a matter of opinion

So much can change when comfort kicks in
Stop searching souls for soulless companions

The misdirected audience
Gets stranded in the fire
If it ever comes, times are changing
Innocent ones
So, take it for what it's worth
And be Grateful for it
Will never come
As expected

Let's set the stage
And kill the lights
The sand sifts through your fingers
It's chipping at the bone
Chipping at the bone
A life slowly remembered
That fabricates the soul
Fabricates the soul
Fabricates the soul

It's a simple niche
With, Limp body, left
To fill it.