Woe - A Treatise On Control

the triumph of power exists as a lie & its control, a figment of all it denies & with pitiful gestures, we jump as it tries & to salvage the notion it comes from the sky & what knowledge precedes us, what failures held high & with this i admonish the longing that dies & they'll tell you of battles you'll exit alive & but know that these fragments of hope are all lies & we end and begin & outside and within & reduced to skin & the truth is thing & what hope shall change the flow of time? & this bone is lead, this curse is mine & here i stand, the lord of all i see & this kingdom is fire, it answers not to me & strained and torn & this i know: all that we are is but a blaze & we're nothing but disciples of the wind & here i stand, the lord of all i see & this kingdom is fire, it answers not to me