Mouthpiece

The disengagement of the bubble is hypnotizing
Some say below the doughy crust the beast is rising
We like to talk about the past
We like to talk about the past
Well we talk about the past like it’s the strangest dream
Then we repeat the things we never dreamed we’d do
I understand that sometimes we all must dance with fuckery
But everybody’s pissing in the well of our suffering
I want to breathe in all the ashes of the books they tried to burn
I want to feel the pages in my skin and understand the words
Castrate fiction. Call it circumstance
They say her wanderings are dangerous
All she wants to do is dance
Question period’s over
Don’t you feel it? I do
You’ll be pummeled by the certainty of minions
It’s a puppet show, a theater of opinions
A chorus of flack
Feeder of the pack
You can hear the shaky timbre of the voices most alone
Yeah, it’s easier to sing within the crowd
Those who pretend to believe hardest might actually begin to
The nature of the bliss the warmth of ignorance gives into
I want to breathe in all the ashes of the books they tried to burn
I want to taste resilience on my tongue and love beyond concern
Mass-grave subtlety, leave it for the birds
They say the world, it might be dangerous, but all it seems to do is turn
Bitten by the hand that feeds you
Holding to what you’re beholden to
Question period’s over. Don’t you feel it? I do