we attempt to procure everything we need
but in doing so, what is the cost?
we ruthlessly search to complete ourselves
as they burn the bridge we crossed

but omissions are made and without question
fingers are pointed towards one another
deceit tumbles from the lips of all
and we resort to killing our brothers

these hands that we use everyday
to grasp, to steal, to borrow
are covered in the blood spilled years before
and for that we drown in sorrow

these feet that carry us wherever we go
bear not the blame
they are burned with the coals of hell's resignation
as it sinks into the oblivion from which it came

and these minds which deny the images, by our eyes contrived
are wretched and mysterious: a stygian abyss
we care not what is fact; we revel in what is lacked
and we find that ignorance is bliss.