What was said under duress; what was shouted out of context cut me deeper. From the divides - surging and reeling - for all the progress we’ve made. We’re spitting hate from candles in caves; inhaling chemicals we create. Buried in lye - rusted and peeling - the palace is your tomb oxidized. Your former glory flaking away; muscle and bone buckle under the weight. Cutting my feet on broken glass, a clean reminder of a bloody past. You see crimson, but your feet dig deeper. Cutting my feet on broken glass, a weak denial of thoughtlessness. Blood on the tracks, a man can’t progress if he won’t look back. We disunite - quietly screaming - for all the anguish we claim. We point the blame to sewers and strays. We burn alive, it’s better that way. Blood on the tracks; feet on the glass. Straight to the vein, the lies we put to test. Take it back. Burn on the outside, we doubt the lives we put to rest. Take it back. Can't take it back. Take back. Glass formed from grains of sand, and sharpened by the fire, cut me deeper. What was shouted out of context cut me deeper.
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