Mutilated images It looks the same, feels the same Pointing at you again Can't help myself asking you how? Where is our path? It's not a phase It will come back again As soon as you forget What is your excuse? The mind is a lack of existence
In time we'll heal all open wounds Still we'll remain the puppeteers Open up the doors, lock them up behind us Blended by the winter light as the worlds collide
We'll feed the storm again Beauty stole my sight We'll fall into the same Cycling game again
It's not a phase Bring this world to an end
As the fractures strife your eye We enjoy our masquerade Through the days of convicted grief The action slowly fades As the countdown reach the end And shimmering light starts to burn We still remain the puppeteers It's too late to make a turn
we'll feed the storm again Beauty stole my sight We'll fall into the same Cycling game again