Running in circles is the easiest way to lose track
of where you're going or where you've been.
We can scream for sin or for days about what we lose
and what we've won, but in the end you're only as good
as what you've done. Forget the phony fuck that thinks
with an ass instead of a head; it's a game left for
losers in a scene they're already fled.
I can't believe for you, I've already left so much
behind. Eleven years of fists and words to keep the
right state of mind, and its easy to lose when you've
forgotten the game. Whether it's sanity or love you've
lost it all amounts to the same.
Patchwork existence. A button martyr matrimony.
Scene screen survival. An exodus assumed.
Who's got the monopoly on sincerity?
It's the same color with a different face.
Self-selected exiled running in the same old race.