That which we are today, they look over and compare,
Those days we're terribly put upon,
Completely confused,
Forgetting everything that is good, we cling onto a strap, dangling,
ID
A decided image, An anachronistic brain,
ID
Questioning the regime at our leisure is an act of suicide
We aren't roused,
Striking at the gloomy system, adrenaline
Without things like relief
The dance of a flock of butterflies, a bad trip in a dark red room
I'm dead
This damaged identity collapses absolutely
ID
A distressed head game, break the damp walls
ID
ID
No relation to the lying us, we wait for the convicting verdict
I need it
The system collapses, the time is now.