Middle Gorund

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Adult Superstition

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20 years I've lived beyond
The wreckage of our hate
The dull edge of the terror
In the space of which we wait
Our blood it freezes constantly
Clouding up our minds
From a clinical psychopathy
Of being cruel to be kind
Your hand in mine
As we go to die their truth is declined
Because death under duress
Is better than death under surrender
They televise their understanding
Or lack thereof with mystic chanting
Selling our thoughts for meager pennies
To cover the losses which we have plenty
Supply is dwindling
Demand for change has become
Condescending
Why do you care if all you care to do is hate
Your hand in mine
As we go to die their truth is declined
Because death under duress
Is better than death under surrender
Your hand in mine
As we go to die their truth is declined
Because death under duress
Is better than death under surrender

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