Sight


It has always been the feeling of bliss
The ragged, cheap, unfeeling sense
One that saw wrong, the real abyss
This is when we construct that fence

Rancid reality realized in shame
Drawn from the polarity of the game
There has never been a way to turn around
There has never been a way to feel ground

See now the true blue skies and green grass
See now where it has been bent at last
Work under the pain, the truth, the real
Die in the sense that it was something you feel

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