Twelve Tribes. The Rebirth Of Tragedy. Flight Of The Pathogen. Zeneszám

I walk inside a facelife made of conflct, the contents defeat the purpose because I live outside a makeshift heart it was always red plastic and cold. You've got to know your place in this... I stick to the basics: Intellect; substance; ambiance. With no poetry in my existence stuck going no where fast. I'm consciously falling our of love with myself and the world with myself and my soul. I'm living for just one moment to die alone you've got to know your place in this world. Your life won't disappear when your eyes are closed. Self is a statue in this world you crumble and fall. I sleep as if I was innocent not knowing what the wold was made of with one eye open I wouldn't dare to wake up. There are antenna in these veins trying to tell me something. leave me under the layers of dead sking I'm invisible without them. I walk inside a facelife unknown outside of this shell I'm not complete I'm not complete