The doom in my voice is often forged from the sun No malice, no cowardice, no salvation Where is the comfort in repetition Lack of predictions, tranquil fictions Soured retinas collapsing the mind Tame is often true, circuit circus will see me through I'll salivate at the chance To guide my own trance Here's to the treacherous few While the rest slowly accrue The refreshing course that we find While stuck in artificial twine The whispers that we keep Are forgetful subtleties Lethal normalcy Mixed with dissolving Shock start a time-lapsed life I'm the revolver Devolving ways grow further Reflections form a cynic The lasting cycles of a skeptic (Me) Devolve, Devolve, me Devolve Devolve I'm the revolver Devolving ways grow further Reflections form a cynic The lasting cycles of a skeptic