x2

Trapped within a fabricated world.
Of Gods encased in metal beams,
Subsumed and enveloped in synthetic dreams.
Evolution holds a cunning trap. 
The misfortunes of the human. Are his works, though brilliant they may be, they've led him to his ruin.
Written in a timeless script,
The tragedy of modern ages.
Cries forth the dismal fate of man.
In bloodied, tear-stained pages.

-



I really can't figure out where this is going. 


Cause sometimes better really feels like worse and worse just makes me wanna kill myself.


I know i don't have to be living with this. I just need to stop adding fuel to the fire.


But goddamnit, i've become too dependent on it's warmth.