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