Devious master, the fabric of the body tied by your own hands. All for the sake of seeing yourself strut in separation.
Composed script, give me five more minutes in this bony sack Thinking you're just a mortal consoled by the mutter sounds coming from behind the mind's hanky laughter. Real rumors of yourself, you don't want to remember.
Observe yourself, master strolling down empty avenues in a pigeon-toed waddle Which way to the beat of the crowd, you ask? Fellow chatters, log-jammed luggage with hard surfaces traveling in perfect freedom with lacquered limits You hover in this world searching for the next empty murmur Even the saints are puzzled by your chatterbox's construct.
The ultimate mystery to overcome, to view the mocking paradox. Master, your fatal form of pleasure is putting you in a death defying position.
