Return To Grandeur

Strings pull our limbs to the proper places,
Without restraint
The day begins with confusion. aware
Continue to construct amongst the pretentious puppets
Hands benumb to the sensation of consciousness
Swarms built to serve as copycats,
In the footsteps of the wicked
Eyes transfixed, hailed to monotony
Of the moments we forge, conviction holds us high
Above the infection of time.
Return to the voice of grandeur
Cut the strings and sing your song of rapture.
In love with the creation of lifeless bodies,
Forbidden to taste the truth
The sharpest needles feel like the dullest of words,
Spoken without passion
Begin to self absorb the reasons beyond reason