Twisted symphony,
unorchestrated melody,
whispers on the wind,
in the skies overhead.
The rain would fall,
to wash away the tears,
but a silent witness,
records them all.
CCTV in the chapel, in the morgue,
watches us rot, our bodies and our souls.
and there's no remedy to the plastic in the stream,
water rich with chemicals, medication for all.
Kiss the reaper little girl,
better late than dead,
as god himself remembers,
all the words left unsaid.
Maybe knowledge left the garden,
and planted a seed,
as the sin becomes so toxic,
it's harder to breathe.
We're all addicted to the promise on the screen,
harbouring a voice that doesn't whimper, doesn't scream,
the evidence is there, when we see that it's wrong,
you keep your little head down and keep walking along.
Well I won't be lost, won't be ignored,
when they're nailing down my coffin I'll be banging the boards,
this little voice that I hear on the wind,
this fracture in my skull won't let me give in.
When the fires start burning will you run from the light?
steal away in shadow and hide from the fight?
or are you like me, a little sick of it all?
take a hammer to the tower, let the ivory fall.