We all wear faces of kings, wisened images of majesty*
Yet we're all one and the same, our facades ever pushed to schism
We recite bitter poetry, scorning the day's descent
Alienation's callous grip, urging us to decline the day
Each one of us searches the streets as restless nights and listless minds
Envelope our daily existence, devouring the will to breathe
Yet we find nothing but needless violence
Ultimate cowardice, actions instead of thoughts
We all look sideways, hoping to see familiar faces
All we find are trinkets staring back at us, expressionless
We are all cursed to walk gaia alone
Surrounded in kabuki, failed geishas
It's in the making, it's in the breaking, the theft of all rationale
In wake of reason we become tainted, entangled in bittersweet escapism
Sidestep the issues at hand; transfixed as statues
A monument of sloth; we are progress squandered
In times of tribulation humanity gravitates to idols
In lieu of self-analysis, reanimate by proxy made flesh
Existence of idealism near-guarantees hopes and dreams
Yet, what are we but hollow men in this suburban wasteland?
What worth is transcendence in a world of fools?
Contented in squander they bask in the light of the noose
Impatiently waiting for a public display of brutality
Under a pretense of autonomy, we are animals
The death of art will be our undoing as we sever the ties to what makes us human
To retain hope in altruism is to surrender ones independence
Contented in squander