We face ourselves through the eyes of others
It's probably easier than questioning yourself

I'm going miles from anywhere
Where the quest of sense is useless

The feelings are covered by eagerness
But nothing from us will stay
We prefer to deny, we prefer to scorn
For our crowns of [bad word]  for imprints in the sands

I'm going miles from anywhere
Where the quest of sense is useless
Where nothing defines the dark realm of the instinct

I face the dramatic birth of the blinding light
I'm carrying the cross of conscience
The primal fears are eloquent
For those who dive in their abyss

I'm going miles from anywhere
Where the quest of sense is useless
Where nothing defines the dark realm of the instinct

The overwhelming reason
Mark out with the appearance of [bad word] Estrange me from ignis beyond the ramparts of doubt
I'm sick of the heaviness of history's failures
I'm [bad word] with shame when I look at us