Ice cold hand shake shake of your newest enemy
smell the fear as the bodies grow sweaty
the strongest god is the deity of the petty
in the pantheon of isolated passions
he wins
for the city sings its prayers too him
with every silent prejudice
and every warm smiling bias
the sky turns heavy and humorless
we're redefining our sentience
in the golden age of loneliness

and you think your doing it
you're doing it
you're doing it right
and then like freshly opened eyes
exposed to broad day light
is this feeling or convincing?
or is my guilt misleading
all control is an illusion
and [bad word] is a [bad word] smile on drip
pull the god [bad word] plug
long live the cult of thug, amen
Im walking down the streets if lost emptiness
I step over the shots of hope still restless

and you think you're doing it
you're doing it
you're doing it right
you keep your mind tight
to keep the mood light
don't let yourself show
dont let the others know
it's all just pretend

my greatest friend
is a black box
in the golden age
of loneliness

in a world where men [bad word] demons
and women into witches
all realness is fleeting
how easy it all switches
with great overtures of friendship
that dont mean [bad word] when you're not going too be somebody
else's meal ticket
and the irony is that it feeds the leach
that keeps us out of reach
you can not teach
the broken glass on the beach
set too lacerate
the heavy soles of fate

just when you thought it was safe too be alone