• Lyrics: play full screen play karaoke
• The Silver Spoon And The Empty Plate - Verse
• You And I Are The Fortunate Ones - Verse
• The Selfless Of The Earth - Verse
• The Selfish Of The Earth - Verse
• The Relevance Of Our Disconnect - Verse
• The New Fury - Verse
• The End Of All Light - Verse
• The End Of All Life - Verse
• Setting Fire To The Bridges We Cross - Verse
• Oceanic Tendencies - Verse
• Finding A Way Out When There Is No Way - Verse
• Verse - Verse

We are the epitome of monetary wealth.
We are also the definition of the bottom of the barrel.
We speak both the language of the rich and the poor
because we are, in many ways, one in the same.
The great divide we face is compassion for the book we
judged by its cover.
Printed words of inspiration became her unconditional
lover.
Stories in black and white helped shape some form of
relating to something...
someone... anything... everything... nothing.
"Police are pigs, justice is blind,

When you speak of her, speak of her well.
We've been teaching lessons to ourselves and other's
stories of hell-
Relating to that situation can give you salvation in
every aspect of loving.
The telling of what lies ahead is something we cannot
know.
"Be prepared for the worst,
and hang on to the last strand of thread that holds
best."
A true test of compassion and humility on the final
tier of a sun that sets west;
and, for a moment, casts a shadow that hides my love
for you;
all of your understanding in me and my patience for
you.
Where were you when you arrived to destroy life?
Where will you be when you lose light?
"Be prepared for the worst,
and hang on to the last strand of thread that holds
best."
A true test of compassion and humility on the final
tier of a sun that sets west.
Fall to your knees, open your arms.
Embrace; relate.
"The easiest thing you can do in life is to hate."
I must admit that speaks volumes for me
but I still stay chained to every ounce of hostility.
The teacher that we've found in a mother that has
abandoned.
The re-gifted dullness of a knife that can't cut,
only scratch and sadden.
It's a burden strong enough to make our minds right or
wrong;
a loss of grey area when all of your loved ones are
gone.
Living in fear of a cross that we bear,

"Do not, for one second,
Think that you will escape the same hell as me."
She never wished that on anyone.
Watching her life unfold in a new one was a dreary
thought
That crushed all hope of the future;
A conclusion to escape personal responsibility:
The underlying fear within you and I.
A false sense of hope,
Lingering underneath all transcending doubt, still
shines.
The masochist in all of us forces a divide.
The broken home passed on.
Guilt, more or less, is our connection worldwide.
The lesson is knowing that you are always freer than
someone else.
To her this is the truest form of empathy,
And something that must never leave us.
This is the key to keeping dignity between "us and
"them".
The predetermined alpha and omega path of men,
That serves to conquer and destroy all that is within.
So here's another lesson from a broken home passed on.
In love.
Her love will never slip away.
Everything she has, she gives to me.
We are talking about something that came from nothing;
A squandered breath that gave me a strong ocean breeze.
A life too low to live. A life too high to die.

The record skipped into a momentary lap(se) on a
damaged groove,
what seemingly lasted as close to what we can
comprehend forever to be.
Used. We all feel used;
abandoned, misunderstood, burned out and abused,
in a dense fog that is our ego.
Never again will I take her for granted.
I still walk with her.
I still speak with her.
Oh, the comfort of a loving mother.
Ashamed of every path taken,
understanding the ones that put you here will burn you
to ash without hesitation.
We walk in her shoes, our lives running parallel
through different times.
Some strange twist of fate created through ironic
design.
We are born from the same light,
into the burden of living the same life.
Left with everything to contemplate and no chains
broken;
the shell of a life that was once so outspoken.
Sinking into the dark Atlantic floor, nearly drowning.
Our life choices stinging and distorting our vision
like a steady wind.
We were all cut form the same cloth, in some way.
I've learned that from her.
We are nothing. We are everything.
We are the future that ruins;
we are the past that keeps repeating until we've become
bored and affluent.
"There is no choice. You will walk with me."

She watched us all put a price tag on anything we
could.
Her gifts neatly repackaged and presented
in a way that is entirely misunderstood:
Watered down and compromised.
Lives that were once free have been stolen
so now she calls on us to steal them back.
"What's ours is ours, the little we have."
We wait patiently at the end of the table for their
scraps.
We fight amongst each other and emulate the first
when we should identify with the last.
"Their suits are a symbol of the perpetual power of a
dominant class.
See through the handshake and see the sneer in a smile.
You will all put your hand in theirs.
But you must remember:
they keep their plates full through acts of oppression
and lies.
Their cups of blood red wine flowing with the sweat of
your kind."
She shakes and waves frantically to make us understand
that we will have to learn to know patience.
In our nightmares:
A utopia just beyond our grasp;
A hand scolded and burning with the boiling bloodlust
of our past.
In our dreams:
We live and love equal;
We walk with bitter clarity, uncommon grace, and as
tall as the rest.

They've got themselves a new spin on the story,
Twisted for one-sided glory.
Devastation soon becoming fuel for the masses new fury.
A greedy hand in the guise of a good man.
So threatening. So deafening. So silencing,
That familiar stance. The burden now passed to us,
We lose our footing but still try to stand.
No control.
No more rules.
No control.
No more rules.
"Perpetual war for perpetual peace",
Turn a blind eye to poverty while manufacturing new enemies.
The new slave's south of the border,
Murdered or overseas.
We still struggle with the fact that one percent has ninety-nine on their knees.
Washington's drawing up war plans,
While there's still no hope for the homeless man.
No one should have to live under these men, iron fists with gun in hand.
No more control.
No more rules.
They try to make you
And me live life by their design:
No free thought. No free speech. No peace of mind.
They make a move to confine.

You can chalk it up to manic tendencies.
Attributes she has also given to you and me.
A lasting black cloud hovering unapologetically
that serves to crush pure thought and pollute all that
is humanity.
We are self-serving, slaving away to please ourselves.
We are the kings and servants all in one:
Some more, some less.
"No dawn will come tomorrow.
Darkness for a decade.
Hold the ones you love close.
I can't say for sure when the sky will clear
but it will, for a while."
Her words move through me like a wave of fear crashing
down on me.
The panic strikes as strong as a god.
The Tsar bomb: overhead to free me.
Empty shelves still stand where she used to keep her
records,
theoretically speaking.
We will spend every minute of every hour,
of every day, of every year,
replacing that vacant space mixed with our love and our
fear.
"Understand that you will meet death before actual
death."
"No dawn will come tomorrow.
Darkness for a decade.
Hold the ones you love close.
I can't say for sure when the sky will clear
but it will, for a while.
Her words destroy me like a wave of fear crashing down
on me.
The panic strikes as strong as big brother.
The satellites: overhead to oversee.
A life so low and undefined, covering all vision:
a true rage that is blind.
We are naked, without shelter;
and when this pill is forced down our throats,
we become numb.
A welcoming numbness that lies dormant until our end
comes.
But this is not the end, you see:
"No dawn will come tomorrow.
Darkness for a decade.
Hold the ones you love close.
I can't say for sure when the sky will clear
but it will, for a while."
Her words destroy me like a wave of fear crashing down
on me.
The panic strikes as strong as big brother.

She sent a jagged rock falling from the sky
that pierced skin and ripped right through bone
to let us know we belong to the land
and it was never ours to own.
Meandering through time and mind,
we shut out the ability to grasp what is "yours" and
"mine".
Left alone to our devices.
"This weight will break you.
This wait will take you."
She woke up with an ocean view and sight of no land.
We'll all tread water for an undetermined amount of
time.
Most of us will drown in our own misery
before we feel the comforting relief of the earth, of a
coastline.
Rising waters will erode any levee we have built
to protect our love for convience.
"This weight will break you.
This wait will take you."
We wake up with an ocean view and sight of no land.
A current that is too strong,
transcending every class of existence,
sweeping us out to sea and testing every form of
patience.
This will be a monumental awakening
and the birth of a retrospective thought
forcing us out, to see.
"Is it the wait that breaks you?

The last time she took the last step of the day she
couldn't return home.
A thoughtless way to get anywhere but the place you want
to be.
"A loveless revelation will soon come to me"
We're barefoot to the world of broken glass,
her arch torn and conveying the past.
"I'm never going back to that life again
because it's the longest one,
the death of me."
Tripping up on every crack in the pavement,
we're humbled by failure and defined by an unknown
greatness.
"For every moonlit sky, for the day I disappear into
nothing."
Like her, we're so unsure if we can ever return.
Her moonlit sky is our guide.
We search to survive.
We're barefoot to the world of broken glass,

She's urging us to connect and flow like the water of the
world.
We build dams and reroute the rivers in our circles
to adapt to the rapids in us all.
We make a sudden switch in current to adjust to the
squalls.
The wind is weathering and our waters turning.
The cold salt drenched mist washes over
like a hammer to the face and a calming embrace.
"The mind is your vessel being battered
with the threat of uncertainty looming underneath and in
the heavens.
The weight of an ocean will crash over you.
You will sink before you swim."
We're grasping for air,
Reaching for a life of fertile land and a warming sun.
We sink.
We swim.
We steal.
We give.
She watches over us,

We opened fire with a .45 on everything.
Then turned the gun and painted the white walls behind us
a stunning cardinal,
soon discernible to our eyes as a grotesque, almost ruddy
brown.
Again and again this scenario played out in my dreams.
I can't speak for everyone
but this is an uncontrollable vivid representation
of a potential dark future of the self,
or perhaps even for all.
A dream that comes in different forms for everyone,
but this one is mine.
Again and again this scenario will play out in our
dreams.
It's an inescapable metaphor for the low-life in all of
We are in love with our own paranoia
and always in a struggle with our love of natural beauty
and the temptation of wretched ugliness.

The record skipped into a momentary lap(se) on a damaged groove,
what seemingly lasted as close to what we can comprehend forever to be.
Used. We all feel used;
abandoned, misunderstood, burned out and abused,
in a dense fog that is our ego.
Never again will I take her for granted.
I still walk with her.
I still speak with her.
Oh, the comfort of a loving mother.
Ashamed of every path taken,
understanding the ones that put you here will burn you to ash without hesitation.
We walk in her shoes, our lives running parallel through different times.
Some strange twist of fate created through ironic design.
We are born from the same light,
into the burden of living the same life.
Left with everything to contemplate and no chains broken;
the shell of a lfie that was once so outspoken.
Sinking into the dark Atlantic floor, nearly drowning.
Our life choices stinging and distorting our vision like a steady wind.
We were all cut form the samee cloth, in some way.
I've learned that from her.
We are nothing. We are everything.
We are the future that ruins;
we are the past that keeps repeating until we've become bored and affluent.
"There is no choice. You will walk with me."