Inverse


There's a lyric on your lips
and you're dying to sing
But you're sewn like a puppet
bound by a dream

Walking on a high wire
on the edge of insane
So high above the world
so buried by their pain

You're the bullet and the trigger
a product of how you're sold
Invention-less and plain
made up in gold

The inverse of the operation
for photographic beauty
Cracked beneath the skin
where no one else can see

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