Within the sound of pleasure I am taken to the distance of your smile,
I am brought to the power of thought as it chains me to the walls of meaning.
Your words carve into my soul the symbolic gesture of perfection,
no longer am I myself but the shadows of a past rengineered to meet a need.
The power of truth sings the song I dare to feel,
the nights of change brings me to the place it cannot be real.
Now rise the voice of the enternal zen,
let us all become the ashes of your signature wave.
Pressure to us - the momment unlocks,
the rhyme of a devestation, the scene allowed to prosper.
We are the people the last of our kind,
dying where the words have abandoned us...
Dead inside and taken apart like machines,
oh the tempo changes and crazy the results.
Desperate feather fall to the ground,
praise the last momment for it is now.
No more time, no more rhyme,
just the beat of the drum.
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