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Staring into the sun, his eyes tearing and burning. Thoughts of that warm
Day he closed up his heart to the world. Few walked beside him, many just
Passed him by. So he'll just stay numb and sit there; quietly fall behind.

Watched a man climb a mountain, watched that man's end of time. No conversation
With the giver, his father lives only in his mind. Took a chance to see her.
Fucked up her world. He never wanted nothing.

Are we scared of progression?
Sometimes it seems we've lost our sense of direction
Too scared to take a stand
Too scared to be against
Follow anything
Or just stand on both sides of the fence
Sure we're all safe inside our neutral unions
But we're leaving the foundation of rebellion in a state of ruins

I've spent my life questioning everything
Sometimes what is placed right in front of us
I find so hard to believe
It can crush us so hard
That it becomes difficult to breathe
"Give it some time"
Is just not enough
I've gotta dig deeper than that

Everything is insane
Young man walked into the end of everything
Took a few out with him
He was never molded
Quite like the rest of those lucky ones
It was understood early on
That life was unforgiving
"It wasn't out of hate now was it son?"

The sun is setting on my back ON MY BACK
As I run from the problems
I just can't face today
Just can't face today
Overwhelmed I'm so distraught
I'm left reaching for the faith FOR THE FAITH
I felt so strong
just yesterday

I REFUSE
To believe in blind traditions
Or buy into this fake world
I will not ignore the truth
I won't follow the sheep and be fooled
I refuse to forget all that I've learned
I see the truth that most choose to fight
Because that is not what I have in mind

You're leaving me and I DON'T KNOW WHY
All I know is that I'm saying goodbye
I wished to god it would be okay
but I guess life doesn't go that way
A pain thats impossible to describe
A loss I wish I never had to feel
Everytime I see your face
it tears me up inside to think

Tired and beaten.
Voice withering away to nothing.
I'm walking in the footsteps made by those who have been defeated.
I've watched men and women made of steel get burned up
as easily as dry leaves and left depleted
All of my heroes have been ruined or written out of history.
I could be destined to fade away like so many before me
But as long as my heart keeps beating.

So here’s a story about a city with a secret
Everyone one here is the life of the party
And everyone who’s anyone is everyone’s biggest fan
If they’ve got what you need.
Everyone whispers and sends out a secret nod
The congregation’s in 5 minutes
“Meet me in the bathroom.” Or maybe tonight the lines
will get drawn right in front of you.

We're the sons and daughters of the poor man, the middle class man,
Forced down to serve by the rich man's hand. This is the perspective
Of a poor dead man's son, another kid that had to run, another life
Struggling in the age of the gun. Running was only temporary, I tripped
Up and I fell. I've learned from what they wanted: Silent people living
In hell, where we're taught there's a price for every man and a price for
Every piece of land. Thrown into a life of stagnance, your mind's a Jail.
You're raised for profit and you were born to fail. Sometimes stepping out

I can't accept what's been done
I'll question the motives
Of all things under the sun
There's something wrong
When a man is kept down
By another man's hand with a gun
We need to start a fire
To act consciously

Blurry visions of your past, unknown mask up ahead.
Will the path we choose to take lead us to bliss, or to our certain death?
So weighed down, we've got the weight of the world on our shoulders.
Will we sit still in a state of Paralysis waiting for love to hold us?
Knee Deep in a society where we learn to do just what we're told.
Keeping us all high on emotion overload.
Sleep: Just an unknown road.

They've got themselves a new spin on the story, twisted for one sided glory. devastation soon becoming fuel for the masses new fury. a greedy hand in the guise of a good man. so threatening. so deafening. so silencing, that familiar stance. the burden now passed to us, we lose our footing but still try to stand.
No control. no more rules. [2x]
"Perpetual war for perpetual peace" turn a blind eye to poverty while manufacturing new enemies. the new slaves south of the border, murdered, or overseas. we still struggle with the fact that one percent has ninety nine on their knees. Washington's drawing up war plans, while theres still no hope for the homeless man. and sometimes i feel hopeless man. no one should have to live under these men, iron fists with gun in hand.
No more control, no more rules.
They try to make you and me live life by their design: no free thought no free speech no peace of mind. they make a move to confine. but they'll never silence me as long as i can breathe.

The record skipped into a momentary lap(se) on a damaged groove,
what seemingly lasted as close to what we can comprehend forever to be.
Used. We all feel used;
abandoned, misunderstood, burned out and abused,
in a dense fog that is our ego.
Never again will I take her for granted.

I still walk with her.

"Do not, for one second, think that you will escape the same hell as me."
She never wished that on anyone. Watching her life unfold in a new one was a dreary thought that crushed all hope of the future; a conclusion to escape personal responsibility: the underlying fear within you and I. A false sense of hope, lingering underneath all transcending doubt, still shines. The masochist in all of us forces a divide. The broken home passed on, guilt, more or less, is our connection worldwide.This is something we can't deny to ourselves, only to others. The lesson: knowing that you are always freer than someone else. To her this is the truest form of empathy and something that must never leave us. This is the key to keeping dignity between "us" and "them". The predetermined alpha and omega path of men that serves to conquer and destroy all that is within should be considered manufactured. There is no true wealth; nothing, when it comes to money, spent. So, here's another lesson from a broken home passed on:

“In love;
power is temporary.
In love;
pain is reactionary.”

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Под огромным куполом под белыми сводами
ленты безкозырок трепало морским ветром
Развивались флаги и стояли ширенги взводами
и батюшка царь на фоне моря и неба
На небольшом постоменте в толпу вглядываясь
коснулся перчатками влажность дождя перил и каждый мотрос в рядах молчал и радовался